Demons
by even your tears were so pretty
Summary: The Boy Wonder was perfectly accustomed to slaying his own demons, sure. When it came to another raven-haired teen, though, things got slightly more complicated. /Chalant and updates on Thursday, for reasons.
1. Prologue

_"Regrets collect like old friends_

 _Here to relive your darkest moments_

 _I can see no way, I can see no way_

 _And all of the ghouls come out to play."_

-Florence + The Machine, _Shake It Out_

 **Disclaimer:** As I'm four years late to the fandom, I truly doubt that I'm capable of owning Young Justice.

* * *

 **Prologue: Origins**

 _New clothes_

 _Magician's costume_

 _Blood red sky_

 _Why was the sky so dark so unforgiving so cruel_

 _Breath catching as she filled herself up with a selfish, bitter hate - because how could she how could she let this happen how could she be so stupid how could she value her pride over her own father_

 _Sacrifice_

 _Kent would never have -_

 _Choking as she grasped for air, grasped for reality, tried to make sure that none of this was real. Tried to make sure it was a hallucination, an extent only of her bitter imagination, tried to hang on to the sliver of hope that she had left._

 _Helmet_

 _Burning gold_

 _So bright so white so blinding too much light_

 _She truly could not breathe. She was doubled over, having practically thrown herself onto the ground - whether it was to hide the tears overflowing from the dam she had uselessly attempted to keep them behind because her dignity still mattered, somewhat, or to beg for mercy because at that point, she couldn't find anything more to do. And it all hurt, she observed. Not just emotionally, but physically, as if watching Dr. Fate possess her father was quite literally tearing her apart. Her mouth was open, why was her mouth open? Her eyes were closed, yet she could see everything unfolding before her with perfect clarity._

 _No fair_

 _She was screaming, she realized, but the sounds had long been lost to her own ears until all she could hear was silence. If she allowed herself to open her eyes, even through the blurry vision that the tears provided she could make out the faint outlines of her concerned of her teammates, and - was that the Justice League? She wasn't sure anymore, and honestly couldn't quite bring herself to care. But she could hear nothing, nothing at all, except for a single, ugly voice in her mind that seemed to dominate everything else._

 _Selfish_

 _Naive_

 _Clueless_

 _Laughable_

 _Idiotic_

 _trying-to-impress-but-why_

 _Yes, that was the real question, she deemed. The world was spinning now, though she wasn't moving at all. Faintly, she recognized it as strange. Yet, through it all, she could still bring herself to wonder why._

* * *

A boy and a girl. The former was thirteen years old, the latter only a year older, but crouched in their slightly uncomfortable positions hidden from the rest of the world, any adult who noticed them (though it was doubtful) would've thought that they were crossing borders into emotions that they were far too young to understand. That was exactly the thing about it. She'd never liked the word fate, anyway, as she preferred to make her own, but the fact that it had now taken her father was plain ironic. Yes, he was a person, and it was only a name - only a word, Robin had murmured - but she still imagined that it was, at the very least, a crude joke.

It was night, now. The sky was no longer a startling red stretched taut over the city, and instead had settled on providing a tarp of what seemed like pure darkness instead, dotted with tiny stars that hardly did anything to add any light. Admittedly, the magician thought it to be less ominous than the sky that had taken away her father, but now, it seemed - mournful, as if grieving with her. And, to be honest, she wasn't completely sure to be grateful or annoyed. So, she opted for neither.

Instead, she was wondering why every hero seemed to have a traumatic backstory, and why she had to be one of them. Knees tucked up to her chest, hair tangled and knotted but falling past her shoulders anyway, she willed her breaths to even again, though they stubbornly remained fast and gasping. Somehow, she still had the nerve to be embarrassed through all of that, and silently thanked the night sky for masking the blush on her cheeks at the moment.

The only traces of dim light were from the crescent moon hanging in the sky, and it scattered beams and towering shadows across the room. On the occasion that it would pass over the pair, they'd shy away even further into the corner of the room they were settled in. She guessed that it was one, maybe two, in the morning, but she suspected that sweet dreams would not accompany sleep tonight, and besides, the Boy Wonder was from Gotham. It was in his blood to stay up late.

They spoke in hushed whispers, as if they were afraid to be eavesdropped on even though everyone else had been gone for hours. Mostly Robin offering her words of advice, which she was, truly, grateful for, but she doubted that she would ever take it; the difference between her and him was, after all, the fact that his family was dead. Her father was still alive, except he wasn't altogether her father anymore, and she was still having a heated mental debate as to whether or not her situation was better or worse. And yes, she was acutely aware that it was unhealthy to think like that, but she either didn't care or wanted to get it out of her system, quite possibly both.

Her sentences were broken and interrupted by hiccups. "They - they still love you, though. And you - you still love them - don't you? Even though they're dead?"

It was a blunt question, and she knew that much, but the most she could muster was an apologetic smile. Robin remained mostly unfazed, though; the effects of having your family dead for years, a skill Zatanna had yet to master. The younger teen took awhile to think over her question - long enough to make the girl wonder if she'd said or did yet another thing wrong. He was good at at reading emotions, though, and she guessed that she was an open book; so, when he answered with nothing more than a nod that shook his black hair into his eyes, he'd also pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, more for reassurance than anything else. She was glad. She doubted that she could take anything else, as of right now.

Two more hours of talking before she'd finally fell into an uneasy sleep, and he'd removed his cape to spread it on her as a blanket. As he turned to leave, though, mouth still set into a thoughtful frown, movement beside him nearly started him off - and, even though that there was practically no light whatsoever, their eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that he could make out the faint smirk lining her lips for tricking the Boy Wonder. And he brought himself to chuckle, and she brought herself to laugh, and they went about that way for a few more blissful moments before he stepped towards the door once more. It was then that she managed to catch at his wrist, blue eyes now wide with both hope and fear, and whispered a single word.

"Stay?"

Her voice was weak and raspy. For a split second, his mind failed him, and words failed to form on his tongue, before he snapped back into action again - action being a simple, slow, almost surprised nod and two more words that tumbled out of his mouth with no hesitation at all. "Sure. Stay."

And that was how they managed to go to sleep that night, on the floor, no part of them touching except for their interlaced hands; and when Robin could finally hear her breathing steady, he lay awake there for a bit longer, silently promising to keep her safe.

Even Batman's sidekick could be just a bit callow, though.


	2. Chapter 1

_"You with the sad eyes_

 _Don't be discouraged_

 _Oh I realize it's hard to take courage_

 _In a world full of people you can lose sight of it all_

 _And the darkness inside you can make you feel so small."_

-Cyndi Lauper, _True Colors_

 **Disclaimer:** I'm still an ignorant girl who didn't discover Young Justice till four years after it supposedly ended, so... do I need more proof?

* * *

 **Chapter One: Unhealthy Habits**

Zatanna, typically, liked being the center of attention; today, though, seemed to be an exception, as the stares digging into her from all sides did nothing for her discomfort. Actually, she was sure that she might've been just fine if they all hadn't pinned her with such concerned looks, as if she was still the child she was five years ago - after all, she'd learned how to fall asleep without waking up with salt on her eyelashes, or how to work up the nerve to turn out the lamp on her bedside table at midnight. Then again, ignorance was bliss, and she'd had plenty of it.

She didn't cross paths with Dr. Fate unless she needed to, sure. And yes, she stayed at the Cave with her teammates far more often than she went home, and avoided talking about sullen topics, and - fine, maybe she was a little unprepared. But only a little.

Still, she didn't expect it to hurt that much.

Everything had been fine, at first - she and Rocket were joining the League, and all the media was blowing up at the mention of the news. She'd smiled and waved, even offering a wink to the cameras every once in a while, and that was the easy part; when she stepped inside the doors, though, and nobody could catch sight of her anymore, the charming smile faded from her face, replaced with a far more determined one. A hardened one, one that only someone who'd been broken could truly master. Well, she'd had a lot of practice.

Her nails dug painfully into the skin of her arms as she cast her gaze down to the floor instead, mouth set in a thin, almost annoyed line. Everything was quiet, for the most part, with the exception of a few disapproving whispers passed among the crowd - the crowd being the group of heroes that she'd looked up to for so long, now acting undeniably similar to children. Black Canary had informed her that it was all out of care and worry, which she could bring herself to believe; but she was nineteen years old now, a legal adult who could most definitely handle some daddy issues. She hoped.

The thing about it was, Dr. Fate didn't act completely different from her father; and that was the thing that might've upset her most. It was as if Giovanni Zatara was only a ghost, still there yet not at the same time, meant to taunt her to a level where she almost wanted to scream. He still knew her tells, could guess when she was upset and when she was using her trickery for no good, and it frustrated her more than anything else. On a childish basis, he shouldn't have gotten to tell her what to do anymore, shouldn't have had the power to tell her when to stop. Because he wasn't her father, not anymore. He was the puppetmaster working the strings.

"Zatanna, I sense your discomfort."

The teen froze in place, arms still folded over her chest, though she managed to drag up her gaze in a somewhat defiant glare, reminiscent of the more rebellious (and admittedly childlike) side of her. "Discomfort? I would wonder why, Da - "

She managed to break off before the word rolled off her tongue, surprising both herself and the other heroes in the room. Inwardly cursing, she wondered how five years hadn't cured her of reckless mistakes like that, though kept her eyes narrowed and showed no sign of nervousness.

He could probably feel the fear radiating off her, though.

"I - I am not your father, Zatanna."

She wanted to retort that so much was already obvious, but the rare hesitation in his magnified voice managed to stop her, even if only for a moment. Dr. Fate was not one to be easily thrown off, and she could feel a familiar sensation blooming in her stomach - hope, but she forced it down before it grew too out of hand. She'd learned one too many times that it was immensely dangerous to harbor for too long.

Zatanna opened her mouth to speak, only to find that words failed to form on her tongue. Her mind raced, and in the corners of her vision she could see the expectant looks of those around her and she _wished_ that she could just take a moment to think, in silence; then again, there wasn't a sound in the room. Her own breath had caught in a mixture of surprise (though she wasn't altogether sure why) and _anger_ , skillfully masked anger that threatened to emerge for the world to see at any moment.

" _Er'uoy thgir_ ," she murmured in perfect backwards. " _Ym rehtaf deid evif sraey oga, dna on lleps nac gnirb mih kcab._ "

Leaving Dr. Fate stunned and the rest of the room completely confused, she turned on her heel, hoping that nobody would notice that her voice had broken halfway through and it was all she could do, at the moment, not to cry.

She was not looking forward to sleep.

* * *

It was hard to imagine a time when he didn't stay awake during the early hours of the morning, perched on the roof of a building in Blüdhaven. Hard to imagine staring out into the night sky without the familiar, slightly itchy feeling of his mask balanced over the bridge of his nose, or hard to imagine himself in the Robin costume, as he had the first few weeks that Jason had put it on. Nightwing had managed to grow into a routine.

Cracking his neck, he leaped down from his crouched position on the railing, shooting out a line with perfect timing so that he could roll when he hit the ground, a move he'd easily perfected over the years. It was nothing more than second nature, now.

He kept to the walls, providing him with a convenient amount of shadows to stay hidden. It was two in the morning, maybe, and he was already late; unable to resist stopping to investigate a heist on the way, he'd gotten... sidetracked. The fact that he felt incredibly guilty for it, though, managed to substitute for that - or, so he hoped.

If his suspicions were right, though, it wouldn't matter altogether that much. Hence why he made no move to go to the zeta tubes to head to Mount Justice, and instead reached for his phone, fingers hovering and hesitating over the numbers. The screen was far too bright for comfort against the blackness he was accustomed to, and he cursed himself for stopping over such a small, insignificant detail. Mouth thinning into a line, he held it up to his ear.

"How're you holding up?"

The voice that greeted him on the other side of the line was surprisingly calm, cool, and collected - at least, he assumed so, but for all he knew at the moment, the magician could be crying her eyes out and he wouldn't have a clue. "Holding up? Against what?"

Oh, so they were going to play the clueless game, now. He sighed to himself, half-hoping that it would be audible to her, and ran a hand through his jet black hair. "How did today go?"

There was a moment's too long of silence before she replied, which was all the answer Nightwing needed to know. Nonetheless, he kept his mouth shut for the moment, because Zatanna deserved that much.

"Might've been better if the Boy Wonder had bothered to show up." Her tone was more joking than anything else, but still Nightwing winced at the words, a sheepish smile taking over his lips before he remembered that she couldn't see him.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Got held up stopping the crime of a century?"

"Something like that."

A beat, where all he could hear was the quiet sound of her breathing on the other end. Even and slow for now, but the fact that she was still up at this hour should've been enough to tell him that it might not last that way for long. The rekindling of memories was never a nice thing to go through, and he himself knew that much from experience alone. So, with regret that he hadn't managed out his priorities set fresh into his mind, he tried again. "How was it?"

He could only imagine the mental debate she'd be having with herself before she could bring herself to answer. She knew, he guessed, that he'd long predicted that she was not okay - so, really, it was only a matter of how long she'd hold it off, now. Maybe she was tired, tonight, because she caved in earlier than he expected.

"I dunno," she breathed. "Awkward, I guess? Everyone just seemed so - so pitying of me, and it was horrible. And - and seeing _him_ again - "

It was never a good sign when she spoke in broken phrases, he knew that much. Because, even though they never seemed to understand how to get past the stage of mindless flirting, maybe even a kiss every once in a while, he was still the one she came to when she needed help. He was still the one she'd grown to depend on, the one she went to when her voice was raw and hoarse in the morning because she how no control over the volume in which she screamed during the night, the one there to tell her stories of what his life used to be like when she couldn't fall asleep. Even after all these years, he was still that one.

Well, he hoped he was, anyway.

Admittedly, their relationship had managed to weaken just a bit over the years; and it was obvious to the both of them since the kiss on New Year's that it was doubtful that they'd ever become more than that - someone to flirt with, someone to relax with. They'd tried the dating thing, and broken up. All they needed was an occasional getaway, and besides, Nightwing doubted that he _deserved_ her - the ward of Bruce Wayne, the playboy who never spent more than a night? Even he could be susceptible to influence.

"Dick?"

The quiet voice snapped him out of his reverie, and he fumbled uncharacteristically with the phone in his hands before he managed to catch it and bring it to his ear once more, mind still racing and mask still creased above the bride of his nose - an obvious sign of thoughtfulness. "Yeah?"

For another moment, there was only silence, and Nightwing wondered if the line had somehow gone dead. Then, the confidence and control in her voice surprised him enough that he almost dropped the phone again, wondering how he was so clumsy tonight.

"Is the sky supposed to be this red?"

His blue eyes widened behind the domino mask as he struggled to find an answer, casting his gaze up to the sky - the black, black sky, dotted with stars. And he knew exactly what was happening at the moment, but everything was moving so sluggishly that by the time he'd even blinked, she'd hung up, and Nightwing - Batman's former sidekick, and the second greatest detective still to this day - was left dumbfounded.

And with a choice.

He could always go to her, comfort her, just like old times. Just like five years ago when he'd first noticed how truly broken she seemed by her father being snatched out of her grasp, and understood that he might've been the only one on the Team to even remotely understand what she was going through. However, he also remembered when she'd pushed him away, with only a sentence whispered as an explanation.

 _"I'm - I'm cracked, Robin. Cracked, but still living on, because I don't want to break to a point where I can't be fixed again."_

That was only a day after they'd sat together under the patchwork blanket of the stars, curling into themselves because they had nowhere else to go. That was also the day when Robin realized that if Zatanna was too scared to even _talk_ to him, for fear that he'd be taken from her also, then she might've already been shattered.

Nightwing set off at a run, shaking his head as he exhaled softly. Not tonight. Tonight, Zatanna would have to be left to face her own demons, because seeing as he might just be one of them - the guilt was enough for him to handle on his own.

* * *

The difference, this time, was that it was nowhere near as silent as Zatanna remembered. The entire world had been mute, looking as if it should've been deafening when it was simply completely the opposite, she knew, be it her screams or her harsh breaths or the arguments of her teammates around her - and, now, when she was too blind to see it before, she took a moment to curse the fact that she'd been so willing to prove herself to her teammates when they had already accepted her without a moment's hesitation. She'd wanted to establish herself as an almost recklessly bold teenager willing to do anything for the mission by deciding to slip on the helmet of Dr. Fate; Kent could only argue against him for so long, anyway. The stupidest thing, to her, about the entire thing was that she hadn't even done it because of the heat of the moment or something like that, no. She'd done it after careful consideration, because she wanted to impress.

Children.

Now, though? She could hear every horrible detail, even when she covered her ears as tight as she could or mumbled incomprehensible nonsense to try and block out the noise, from the gasping hiccups that escaped her every few seconds to the incessant chirping on the crickets simply just wanting to live their lives. Vaguely, she thought that something like that shouldn't even be scientifically possible - but she was really one to speak, wasn't she?

And she hadn't even slept. Yes, that was because she'd been too cowardly to, but for a perfectly good reason; one that hadn't worked in the least, evident by the way she hugged herself, or the way she burrowed into the corner like all those years ago. Evident by the text she'd written up on her phone, the screen intensely and almost annoying bright against the stark darkness of the room.

 _To: Robin the Birdie_

It was a nickname she'd given him so many years ago, and hadn't bothered to change, because it was nice and childish and she could bring herself to appreciate that. Even if he was no longer a Robin.

 _I believe in the supernatural._

A single sentence, first, that she'd typed out with trembling fingers - the number of times she'd had to go back and correct herself, even within those five words, was another sign.

 _I believe in demons. In things that haunt you. Maybe even ghosts._

 _Ghosts of the living, too._

 _My mother -_

Here, she'd paused for a few minutes, giving herself time to let the phone slide out of her hands and stare up at the ceiling that she could barely even make out, trying her best to just breathe. She remembered when she was little, and practically everything frightened her, when Zatara would offer her an encouraging, practically dazzling, smile before telling her that all she had to do was breathe. In, and out. In, and out. Easy. No need to think.

It wasn't as if the death of the mother had been traumatizing, as much as she hated to admit it. It came down to a few things; the fact that she had little to no memories of the woman, the fact that she'd died in the line of hero work because that was simply just their purpose in life, the fact that Zatara himself was so ready to just _move on._ The words weren't nearly as scary ten years ago as they were now.

 _\- is someone who rests in a shattered picture frame on my mantel. Bad luck, in my opinion, but I suppose love and ties overrides that any day, sure. When she died, I realized that it wasn't a world of black and white; because I myself was stuck in that gray area, trying to figure out what she meant to me. Trying to figure out what the hell I was doing wrong, because clearly, there was something, right? Because I felt almost nothing, except for something of a self-hatred for exactly that reason. I should've cried, should've wailed, should've torn myself apart, but I couldn't. And I have yet to figure out why._

 _Now, in this gray-ish world where everyone, including me, struggles to see everything clearly, I'm conflicted again. I find that fate, the world, whoever, likes to do that quite often. To confuse us, to hurt us, all for some cruel sort of game that nobody else but them understands. I'm -_

 _I'm -_

She struggled to find the right word, here. In her opinion, there was none in the English language that could describe her even remotely at the moment, in her bleary-eyed, mascara-dripping and pale mess, but for the sake of the text, she wanted to grasp for one. At the same time, though, it seemed impossible that a single word would be able to sum up all her emotions within only a few letters, when she felt like screaming her heart out just because there was nothing else to do.

 _Overwhelmed._

Yes, that would work.

 _Because - because -_

And here she was, at a crossroads, again. There, technically, was no reason why she should be acting so dramatically, other than the fact that it felt like the time was right. It had been five years. Everyone expected her to have moved on by now, and she could truly say that she really did want to; that she felt so, _so_ weak because she couldn't; but there was nothing she could do about it. She, and her father, had always been ones to easily give into emotion, believing that living without it was both dull and dangerous for the mind. So, again, she wondered how the English language could be so vast and so restricting all at the same time.

 _Because life is cruel and unwelcoming and hurtful and painful and stupid and unappreciative and greedy and selfish and taunting and seems to have a passion for torturing us around until she break, and shatter, and break again, and no matter how much we try to persist - how much we try to keep going, because we're heroes and that's what we've been taught to do since forever - it throws us again and again until we realize that it's perfectly useless to keep getting up when it's already waiting for you at the front door. And it doesn't care, because it doesn't feel, which is certainly a skill that I can only dream of mastering._

 _Sruoy ylurt, Zatanna_

A slim finger hovered over the Send button for only a moment before she brought herself to laugh - loud and boisterous and somehow filled with all the humor she could muster at the moment - and delete the message, dropping the phone screen-down on the floor, but not before she noticed the _(1) Draft Saved_ flit across the screen. She couldn't really bring herself to care as her eyes fluttered closed, though, because by the time Nightwing finally slipped through the window to check on her that night, she'd long given into the nightmares, screaming and sobbing in her sleep.

* * *

 **Reviews are love. And, y'know, just pretty awesome within themselves.**


	3. Chapter 2

_"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best."_

-Marilyn Monroe

 **Disclaimer:** Why would the creator of Young Justice write fanfiction about themselves when a third season's coming out?

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Meant to Fly**

 _Blurry vision_

 _The Grayson colors and_

 _Flying_

 _Because that's what birds were meant to do, after all. They were meant to fly, to soar, to stare down at everyone else against a rich blue sky, because flying meant freedom. It meant being lost among the clouds without a second thought because Dick had always thought that they felt like cotton candy, and they smelled like it too: sweet and fresh and sugary, all at once._

 _Smooth metal_

 _Deafening_

 _Crowds_

 _Cheering for him cheering for them_

 _And so he allowed the smallest of cocky grins to pull at his lips as he allowed the momentum to pull his forward, so that he could flip and spin and show off a million other things. Because with the music -_

 _\- and the laughter -_

 _\- and the black hair managing to fall into his blue eyes without completely obscuring his vision -_

 _\- he thought that everything might've been alright._

 _Before he was suffocating, drowning under water - no, under memories - of more bright blue eyes just like him that were now shockingly dull, and almost taunting, he thought. When they'd died - when they'd fallen, because after all, he guessed that it must've just been hilarious to see the look on his face when he realized that they weren't meant to fly - they'd died with eyes wide open, but diluted, like they'd lost their spark. Lost their meaning._

 _And the scariest part, to him, was that they had._

 _Or maybe the scariest part was the fact that had this not happened - had he not screamed and cried and wailed for days - then, he would never have his utility belt around his waist and a mask covering his eyes._

He shook his head, now, breath catching for a moment as he refused to give into dreams, because that was all they were. And he imagined taking a knife and cutting through them all, slicing through them with ease and maybe even a smile, to kill them off, once and for all.

* * *

Beast Boy was perfectly aware that it was impolite to stare.

However, even with the slightly scolding looks M'gann (who he'd never stopped calling his blood sister) sent him whenever his gaze dragged from the fight back to the tired magician, he couldn't peel them away. She really was a sight, he thought - she looked far older than she should've, for one thing, and the fact that even he, who was commonly described by almost everyone on the Team as dense mostly because he was so young, could tell that she'd had a rough night should've been worrying. It was obvious, after all. Even if, he thought with puzzlement, everyone was ignoring it as if it wasn't there at all.

Eyes bloodshot and surprisingly red, as if she was possessed (which may or may not have been a thought that had first flown through Beast Boy's mind when she was first assigned to help train the Team instead of whatever mission the Justice League was on, at the moment), and dark half-moons right under them - a trick of eyeshadow, he'd first thought, but there was no point in Zatanna wearing makeup. No, those were bags under her eyes, because she clearly hadn't gotten much sleep last night.

Her at least decently fair skin was far more pale than usual, contrasting almost frighteningly against her hair, her eyes (which he thought were now more red than blue), her clothes. And, more than that, she was unfocused - which was awfully hypocritical, to him, considering that one of the first things she'd taught him was that focus was absolutely essential - and kept hitting the floor with a scream far louder than it should've been, only to hurry to her feet and brush off her clothes as if nothing had happened.

And, not to mention the fact that either Rocket or Nightwing, though, to be honest, mostly the latter for a reason he had yet to discover, were constantly by her side, pinning her with worried looks that she passed off with a defiant one of her own, seemingly not in the mood for any pity at the moment. But not even Beast Boy missed the concerned frown pulling at Nightwing's lips, and the curious teen could bring himself to wonder why. He knew the two of them had history, sure, but they rarely saw each other over the course of five years, a result of Nightwing going solo and Zatanna staying on the Team. Well, up until recently.

Recently being yesterday.

He did wonder, after all, how at least something of a relationship could be re-established so quickly, yes, but when he went to M'gann for answers - the only one who would really take him seriously and talk to him, because even though he was the same age as Robin, or Nightwing now, when he first joined the Team, apparently he was still too young - she just gave him a laugh, acting awfully like everyone else who he talked to, before telling him that he would understand when he was older. Which, after all the times he'd heard it, had become his least favorite phrase.

"Beast Boy."

The voice pulled him out of his brief reverie and he glanced up instantly with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck as Nightwing fixed him with a pointed look. "Remember all that focus?"

"Noted."

"You'll be doing a practice round with Zatanna." Nightwing was no longer looking at him, gaze instead on the magician, and Beast Boy got the feeling that she was being paired with the youngest, quite possibly most inexperienced member for a reason. So that she wouldn't lose, wouldn't fall, yet again.

And sure, while he did understand that it was for her own good and he should probably let her, he refused to be thought of as the one they would all turn to when a situation like that came along. So, with a determined nod, he stepped forward. He didn't miss the slight relaxing of Zatanna's shoulders as his tail flicked up, a sign of concentration.

The pair entered the ring, one filled with a probably childish persistence to win and the other just hoping for a break - something to take her mind off of things without embarrassing her further, because she did not appreciate the ooks everyone else in the room was giving her. Beast Boy was a sweet kid. Maybe she'd even go easy on him.

Not that her best was even near decent, at the moment.

So, maybe easy was an exaggeration. She was already straining herself by the time the young teen made his first move, simply lunging forward in his human form (minus the tail) to jab her lightly in the stomach before darting behind her. It should've been an amateur move, easy to both block and follow-up, but her vision blurred a moment before he was on her. His jab was light, easy, but still enough to make her double over with sickness - indeed, she could feel the bile rising up in her throat, as well as him running behind her.

She attempted to swing her leg out to knock him off of his feet, momentarily forgetting of his ability to morph into any animal he liked. Before her brain received a chance to compute the fact that there was suddenly a bird hovering above her and empty space where her leg was now kicking, she was thrown off balance, and fell to the ground yet again, doing her best to push down the taste of bile.

Confusion radiated off of the green bird chirping above her, now. Even he thought he was meant to be an easy target, and for a moment, her heart went out to him in sympathy; always treated as the youngest and therefore the one to be pushed down, when, actually, he reminded her a lot of Robin when she'd first met him. That same determination to prove himself was unmistakable. Then again, Nightwing did rub off quite a bit on the kid.

Neither of them attacked, or barely even moved, for that matter. It was just a period of time when she struggled again to her feet, Beast Boy simply moving out of the way, and everyone else in the room was expectantly staring at the two of them. It was then that Zatanna realized that Beast Boy wouldn't make a move on her, not after her bluster, already. He was too scared. Of hurting her.

A sigh escaped her lips, almost inaudible, but surely noticed by Nightwing, she thought. Annoyance bloomed in her chest, most likely irrational but there nonetheless, an effect of little to no sleep. She had the experience, and besides, she'd once done the research.

But anyway.

She returned her focus back to the fight, unconsciously biting her lips as she expelled a breath. " _Nrut mih kcab,_ " she commanded first, voice quiet and soft, and she could see Beast Boy's eyes widen with indignation before the human version of him protested that it shouldn't be fair. It almost brought a smile to her lips, before Nightwing took the liberty of replying for her.

"Well, you did use your own powers. And that is the point."

"But she's supposed to help me train!"

"She's supposed to help you prepare," the legal adult corrected with an amused smile, causing the young teen to huff and cross his arms even though he was in the middle of a fight. Zatanna offered him a genuinely apologetic smile, before returning to a fight stance.

"Fist to fist, how about that?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Beast Boy gave in - it wasn't as if he had another choice, anyway. "Fine."

They both resumed their stances, everything in the room near silent as they both pinned each other down with stares, neither of them daring to make the first move. Kids, however, were impatient, a fact that Zatanna knew well (mostly from experience), so she, for once, was ready when Beast Boy attacked.

Another punch to the stomach, though she blocked it and grabbed Beast Boy's almost worryingly light hand, faintly wondering why the kid was simply skin and bones, before she used the momentum to pull him over her shoulder. What she didn't expect was the fact that all cats landed on their feet - even if, you know, they weren't exactly in cat form at the moment. He was surprisingly quick and agile with his movements, and did more of a dodging game than an attacking one, so that he was almost always behind her - when she lunged backwards to elbow his chest and pin him down to the ground, though, he managed to bend his back enough to slide under her so that she stumbled back, and took the opportunity to push out one of her legs from under her.

Then, she buckled.

It was like a dam had broken in her yet again, letting out a flow of water that couldn't be stopped. She wasn't even aware of the people around her, anymore; wasn't aware of the fact that Beast Boy had stumbled back in surprise, that Nightwing was instantly by her side again, that she was on the floor, choking on the bitter taste of bile that she couldn't force down any longer. Instinctively, she curled into herself, eyes fluttering closed until she could feel the sensation of water rolling down her eyes and salt gathering on her eyelashes.

And she would've been screaming and sobbing, she suspected, except for the fact that her voice was broken. And now, it was truly all inaudible, because she had nothing left to scream. So, instead, she opted for the next best thing.

She imagined a demon crawling up inside of her, of all the bad things she'd ever thought about in her life, using her mouth and her words as an exit. The voice that she emitted was no longer hers - it was raspy and dark, among other things.

"I have never been worth it."

The first sentence was barely above a whisper, yet it was the only thing she could hear. Everyone seemed so quiet, so calm. So frozen.

"Has anyone ever been worth it in a world like this one where most people can't afford to bat an eye at you when you walk by - or where they snicker behind their hands because they have absolutely no idea that life isn't all sunshine and rainbows? Has anyone ever thought of the fact that love might be stupid, if it even exists at all, on the rare chance that they understand that we're stupid enough to believe that someone will look past all our flaws? I doubt it, because that's the kind of people we are - desperate, that's the word. And when that desperation is put to use, then suddenly cut off - "

Zatanna paused, here, again, whether to catch her breath or to try (and fail) to process her own words, she wasn't sure. But she was aware, now, that it was like she'd been dragged back into the right universe once more, and people were moving and yelling and shouting again, and she could both see and hear all of it, which came off to her as nothing more than a miracle. So, when she continued, the demon seemed to be gone. It was only her, left.

" - well, then, I suppose that those are the people who truly understand what love is. Those are the people who understand that love, and maybe even life, are illusions."

By this time, she'd hoisted herself up to her knees once more, blue eyes widening to take in her surroundings as she took in a breath. Beast Boy looked _so scared,_ so frightened, and it only took her mind a moment of thought to realize that she already knew why. The, rather eye-opening, in her opinion, truth was the fact that he was scared of her.

And even though M'gann quickly ushered him away with slight color in her cheeks and an embarrassed smile tugging up a single corner of her lips, she could still see the rigidness of his tail as he left the room. From there on, everyone followed, as if they couldn't leave quickly enough, and Zatanna Zatara was left to wonder how she'd become a monster so quickly.

* * *

Jade Nyugen was generally not known to be a cheerful person.

Artemis would tell anyone that the girl had a temper that went off as easily as an alarm clock, and most likely just as loud. And the thing was, even when provided with evidence, it was difficult for her to get over her grudges - which, more times than not, worked to her advantage, considering that she'd never truly let go of her villainous roots. Roy Harper had tried, sure, but you couldn't change the foundation of a person, no matter how hard you did try.

The thing was, when exposed to so much - so much hate or so much pain or so much anything else, she wasn't quite sure - she found that it was difficult, if not impossible, to _remain calm. Take off the mask. Open those wild eyes of yours to actually see the world. Breathe in, breathe out. Because how long can we keep up this charade?_ even if she was constantly repeating Roy's words in her word, grasping for the touch of his voice echoing in her mind, using the face she'd seen without the mask as a lifeline to keep her grounded to Earth, where everyone could be safe and happy and all live in harmony.

And if she got just a bit sarcastic and awfully sadistic at the end, that was okay too.

She was still uncontrollable. She was still untamable. She was still disappearing, just like the Cheshire Cat. And nobody could change that, sure.

But, the thing was, they could forget it.

There were several things in her mind telling her to take advantage of that - because, after all, the best thieves were the ones not spoken about, and besides, her intentions were to fade away, anyway. But, then again, the more troublesome part of her mind could come up with quite a few compelling arguments to lull her back to what Roy often referred to as the Dark Side (making her think of some movie from the 90's).

For one thing, she hadn't seen the former vigilante in months. Almost a year, actually. And, therefore, any and all persuasion had practically faded from her mind, leaving Cheshire back again at Square 1, the heated debate between two sides of herself about _what the hell to do next_ , because she was a trained assassin who'd let herself fall under the trance of a rival. Because he had nice hair, and she was intrigued by the mask. Five years could certainly change a few things, though, and she imagined that love was one of them, because love was in no way the way they described it in fairy tales or books; love was brutal. Love tore things out from you that you didn't ever expect to be exposed, and love did not last for long, no matter what they said about that not being true love. Jade knew what true love was, yes. True love was the flurry of action and intimacy and coy smiles and reaching for someone under the coat of darkness, before they slipped between your fingers like minnows in a river.

Which led to the bitter thoughts that followed suit, the common _I thought you loved me_ and _Why don't you care?_ that she had noticed often went along with couples who'd had in mind a perfect vision. Who knew? Maybe she'd, once upon a time, had that vision in mind as well, but that was before her mother stopped being Huntress and practically tore her family apart with the decision. Her father was outraged, and a young Jade Crock was left to wonder why people sacrificed everything they knew for a single, four-lettered word that most likely didn't even actually exist. So, if anything, her vision had been shot down when she was probably about twelve years old.

To add onto the rapidly increasingly and mostly negative thoughts piling up in her dark mind was the fact that she believed her truly didn't care about her - didn't care past the level of trying to rid the world of one more villain because after all, he was a hero, and that was the cruel work they did. They were just as bad as villains, in a way, except the public was too awed by bright flashes of light to see that. He didn't care enough to know that she'd had a child, a daughter, without him; and all the times she'd seen the movies on TV where the mother would hold her baby for the very first time and then burst into tears out of happiness (which was awfully dramatic, in her opinion) and the father would say that he/she had her eyes, or vice versa. And then all three of them would huddle close together, smiles stretching inhumanely from ear to ear, in a perfectly white and clean hospital room, surrounded by encouraging nurses with fake smiles plastered onto their faces. Jade imagined that it must've gotten tiring, watching that performance over and over again.

Her experience was nothing like that. At all.

Hers was brutal, having taken place in an old abandoned barn somewhere in Kansas, she guessed (she'd slept most of the car ride there, admittedly, but she deserved that much) with nobody but her father, who shouted insulting words and phrases such as, "You've never done anything in your life, can't you even birth a baby?" the entire time to supposedly provide encouragement, and her mother, who actually did most of the work but couldn't stop crying the whole way through. Distractedly, she could bring herself to wonder why - if it was because she was finally going to have a grandchild or because she thought Jade wasn't ready to be a mother (which was most likely true) or some other third reason that most likely existed out there.

Hers was made up mostly of anguished screams and even the occasional cry for Roy as salty tears streamed down her face and into her mouth because no one could be bothered to wipe them away, making her look weak and forever degrading her status to the one and only Sportsmaster. Hers even had an argument between her loving parents roped in the middle of it all before she finally managed to get their attention because the baby was coming out the wrong way and she had no idea what to do about it. Turned out, neither did her mother. And as for the blonde that was his father, he mostly sat there with his arms crossed over his chest and a deep scowl meant for his mother but probably subconsciously aimed at Jade as well, only providing occasional input that was not helpful at all.

And lastly, hers consisted of the death of her beautiful baby girl.

She really was beautiful, she thought, when all the gasps had escaped her throat and she finally managed to realize the truth of the situation; that those movies had lied to her when she was little, because she was sobbing, and it wasn't from the happiness. It was because Lian Nguyen-Harper looked so peaceful and happy, even in her sleep (even in her death, her father had corrected her with little to no mercy). Wisps of brown hair emerging from her head, but leaving the gorgeous brown eyes she had perfectly exposed for anyone to see. Except they were glassy and glazed over, and it was everything Jade could do to push down her eyelids so that she wouldn't be reminded that she was a failure, when it came to everything.

With those thoughts fresh in mind, she'd returned to Star City probably a bit after two in the morning, knowing that Roy would still be awake. He'd always had a hard time falling asleep, especially when she wasn't by his side. Stuck with the nightmares, but mostly the guilt. It was one of the few things they shared.

Daggers and knives sheathed and strapped to her belt, dressed in her assassin's costume, she slipped into her old apartment, silently hoping that Roy hadn't moved an inch while she was gone. At the very most, it would be an inconvenience, and would involve an awful lot of bribery when she did find Roy. Best if it didn't happen at all.

But Roy was still _her_ Roy, and she knew him all too well. So, by the time she'd even taken the liberty to go through the door that opened up to their mess of a kitchen with the key she'd somehow managed to dig out, he, in all his now shaggy-haired, tired and stubble-covered glory, was standing next to the couch, seemingly unarmed but shoulders tense nonetheless. The fact that they only relaxed slightly when he recognized her managed to pull at her heart - but only slightly, and she was glad, because she doubted that she had any more tears to shed.

She leaned against the island, all false smiles and feigned ignorance. "Why the sad face? I thought you'd be happy to see your legal wife."

Roy's jaw was set. He ran a hand through his hair and allowed a sigh to escape his lips despite the fact that Jade was fixing him with the death look that all men feared, and she could tell from the calculating look stretched upon his features that he was wondering if she was already past the gone, or if she could be saved. She grinned something reminiscent of her mask, which she'd saved the trouble of putting on.

"Jade."

His voice was so careful, too measured, and the woman scowled - next thing Roy knew, she was holding him with a knife to his neck. "Ah, the memories."

"You couldn't kill me even if you wanted to."

It was a bluff, and both of them knew it. Both of them also knew that Jade could easily kill the archer in her sleep without a second thought and no emotions to pull her back, because even though she figured all humans were programmed with the basics of needing and wanting and other things like that, she'd learned how to fix herself. If fixing could be counted as beating it in - which was just more proof that there was no way to change her back.

"Choose your words carefully, pretty boy."

Another sigh. "What do you want?"

She snickered, though it took a moment of thought for her to realize that she didn't know what she wanted, didn't know what she'd come back for. A nagging voice in her head suggested that it could've been because she really did want to see Roy again, but she didn't have time nor the patience for complications like that.

 _I want - I want you to sort me out. I want you to fix me. I want you to hold me. I want you to make me better with a kiss. I want to pretend that everything can be okay, because ignorance is bliss._

She'd waited a moment too long to answer.

Roy, however, misinterpreted her hesitation; voice exposed and weak and broken as he spoke, she took a moment to wonder if it was all just fake vulnerability for show. "Please, Jade - weren't - we were happy."

"You were happy," she corrected, voice surprisingly light, as if they were only trading everyday banter.

" _I_ was happy?"

So maybe the surprise was real, after all. She shook her head, further messing her already wild hair. "Don't give me that look. You, of all people, should know that you can't change a person at the roots."

"I didn't think you were that far gone in the first place."

"Now, that's just insulting."

Roy scowled, and somehow it managed to look more familiar to the man she'd first fallen in love with five years ago. She loosened her grip on him, therefore giving him the chance to slip out of her grasp and turn to face her, eyes bright without the domino mask he usually hid them behind. When she'd first seen them, she'd stolen his mask mostly for play only to find that he was practically covering up sapphire treasures, and taken the opportunity to accuse him of not trusting her. Then again, that was only a year after they'd first met, so it was most likely true.

"You could still - _we_ could still be okay, y'know."

The archer had never been the best with words and she'd always known that much, even appreciated it, because it meant that she could deal with him without all the awkward fluster men usually provided. However, now, those were all the words that she was desperate to hear and hated, all at the same time. So, opting to focus on the latter, she allowed a harsh laugh without any humor in it to slip past her lips as she took another step back, and another, and another, until her back hit the wall and she could see him in the dim, crappy lighting of their flat. He looked small.

"I trust you, Roy. For a lot of things. But for this?"

Another laugh.

"You're wrong."

Seemingly having a weight lifted off her slim shoulders, Jade Nguyen exhaled softly, stepping out the door without looking back to hear his pleads before she could change her mind.

* * *

 _ **A quick shoutout to Artemis Raven Courtney, Raven-Claw9, ignimortis, and Violator-San for being sunshines and bothering to follow a story like this one. Shadhowstrike05 is just a babe for favoriting.**_

 **Okay, so I did the unthinkable, ahh! I'm freaking out, at the moment, because I within my planning of this story I quickly realized that I needed some sort of actual plot in order to keep it moving, but here's the problem: I am generally not a creative person. I can't write a mystery or a good fight scene, and so, the best subplot I could come up with was a pretty strange one in order to boost Nightwing and Zatanna along because Chalant with some help is wonderful, right (hopefully)?**

 **And who doesn't love Cheshire?**

 **Reviews are love. Tell me what you all think.**


	4. Chapter 3

_"They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects."_

-Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_

 **Disclaimer:** Mannn. I own nothing.

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Pride and Prejudice**

The smell filling the room was both peculiar and unmistakable for the slightly familiar scent of gunpowder, only recognizable to one Nightwing for the sole fact that he'd dealt with it one too many times. By this time, any suspicious activity involving it was nothing more than something to roll his eyes and sigh at for the fact that another stupid teen, most likely, had thought that it'd be a good idea to try it out. This time, though? His mouth was set in a thin line of puzzled thought, mulling over why Cheshire would decide to make a comeback after all this time. After Artemis had even retired.

Tilting his head, he could see out of the corner of his vision that the scent had fixed Zatanna's nose into what he could only describe as an amusing, wrinkled position, quirked upwards as she tried not to sneeze. Though, he turned his attention back to the mission at hand with a silent thanks to Batman for something as simple as letting the magician take her mind off of things. Of course, the thanks was paired with what should've been a withering glare that he learned from only the best (except it was all in his head) due to the fact that Nightwing had been assigned to her - because, apparently, he knew how to deal with her. In all honesty, he wasn't sure if either of them should've taken it as an insult, but the knowing smile on Bruce's face as he left the room with a swish of his cape was enough to leave Dick huffing in protest.

Not that there was much.

He cursed under his breath, quietly scuffing his foot on the concrete floor as he stumbled forward, managing to make it stealthy enough that it could be viewed as all intentional. However, he could still imagine the look that was sure to be passing over Zatanna's face at the moment, even through the darkness blanketing them - a smirk tugging up half of her lips as she struggled to keep the other half under control, a look he was incredibly familiar with because most of the time, he was the one who caused it. He might've even called it admirable, like she'd managed to master one part of the _Mona Lisa_ 's inimitable smile.

"The Boy Wonder - "

"Don't," he grumbled in reply, therefore cutting her off before she could finish and drawing a sigh from her. His lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile and he barely suppressed a chuckle, still aware, if vaguely, of their mission. Of their objective. Right? Right.

And that was the last of words passed between us, to a point where Nightwing could no longer tell if the silence stretched between them was comfortable or awkward instead, interrupted only by the soft, almost inaudible sound of her breathing, for once calm and even. It was strange, he thought, that she was far more scared of losing herself to sleep than she was risking her life - maybe it was the instinct that superheroes grew up on. He, himself, had always savored the name of 'fearless' when he was a kid, because he didn't see a reason not to be, flying off of trapezes by nothing but reflexes and muscle memory, trusting his arms and legs to do what his mind couldn't think of.

That was another thing, he supposed. The mind was a complex, beautiful thing that worked in intricate ways - the thing was, though, it worked in complications and equations to attempt to figure out the impossible when it really couldn't, because everything had its limits. Superheroes literally defied the laws of nature, the laws of physics, etcetera, and to force a brain to understand the inhumane commands it was being given was practically ruining yourself. Some things were set into stone.

Staring, willingly, into the face of death was also another thing the mind was unprepared for, he suspected - because, logically, no one would risk their lives on purpose. The thing was, though, Nightwing doubted that anyone truly understood what it was like to be in front of the Zeta Tubes unless they'd actually experienced it - nobody knew the thoughts that flew through his head even after all these years.

 _First._ _There was a brief moment when I would be slipping on my mask when it would all catch up to me, when I could finally understand the reality of the situation with what I can only describe as an eye-opening experience. I think it only lasted a moment, maybe a minute or two, but when you got far too deep into thoughts time truly did seem to expand out before you. Maybe frustratingly. My experiences were, more often than not, biased._

 _The funny thing about death was that nobody truly knows what's beyond it because, of course, nobody's lived to tell the tale of their experience. I didn't typically like to think about all the possibilities, though left with time on my hands, it was only the inevitable. Death was still a scary thing. Superheroes weren't invincible, somehow contrary to popular belief, and we, for the most part, were still human, as well; we still experienced human emotions. We still needed certain things, and we still wanted to believe that everything would be okay - because that's what everyone wanted, wasn't it? The difference was, though, that we were the ones most commonly depended on to fix them._

 _Whether I'd be trapped in a sleep-like darkness forever and never know, left to battle my own demos for the rest of my afterlife, which might last even longer than my actual life - because my actual life would've ended, and all that would be left was to be elapsed into eternity. Whether I might just be born as a new soul into a new place, possibly even a new world. Whether I might go to Hell, for all the horrible things I'd ever done._

 _Second. I would always start thinking of the future, hands shaking as I reached for my utility belt. Small, simple things, like the bowling night I'd planned with Wally next Friday, or my nineteenth birthday approaching in just a few months. And it almost felt as if my fate would simply be in someone else's hands, for someone else to decide whether I lived or died - and the only thing I could do was hope that they opted for the former, so that I could manage to bring a smile to my face once more doing all those things. And I wondered how truly pitiful it might be if all of that was to end, all at once. At any moment, any at all._

 _Third. It could be basically guaranteed that my mind would drift to my family - well, Bruce - and my friends after that, while my eyes would be squeezed shut and I leaned against the door for support in the last few minutes I had before we would leave. They were my everything. They were my lifeline, they were my anchor down to earth - and to lose them, I thought, would be giving into the inner demons that always fought to control me. I always pushed them down. But the more pessimistic part of me insisted that there would one day be a time when stubborness and blind hope would do nothing for me, and I always imagined that similar to being lost in a void - no voice, no one to hear me._

 _So I would beg for mercy, silently and all in my head. It's stupid, really, and I hate begging - it's weak. It's dishonorable. It's a clear sign that you've given up already, but after nearly ten years of fighting, ten years of letting my head loll back against the wall in tiredness when I got back from a mission, all I could do was hope that it was acceptable. Excuses formed in words: that I'd spent all my life protecting others and that it was time for me to protect myself. I didn't even know who I was asking. But they were still there, and there were still watching, like a crude twist on guardian angels that didn't really save my future in favor of deciding it._

 _Lastly. The thing was, though, after all those thoughts had safely passed through my brain and I had overcome the dizziness threatening to take a hold of me, I would think about every time the Batman would stare into the face of death, a nonchalant expression always carefully laid out over his features. Until I'd tried it myself, I'd always wondered what it would be like to stare into the cold face of death -_

 _Unsure of what would happen at the moment, our future not even in our own hands._

 _Desperately wanting for everything to turn out with rainbows and sunshine._

 _To laugh about tiny, useless things, nothing compared to the whole scale of the universe or even the impact of what they would do._

 _But overwhelming all of that was the fact that it would be okay if death came._

 _If it would be peaceful, if it would hurt -_

 _And maybe those thoughts were horrible, when thought of what we would leave our family and friends with, but maybe, just maybe, they deserved it._

 _Maybe we deserved it, also._

 _I would slip out the door, a falsely cheerful smile plastered on my face as I stepped out to face what I could only call my destiny._

* * *

More often than not, even behind the mask, Cheshire's lips were twisted into a cruel sort of smile. It was always bitter, maybe even broken - yes, broken was the way to describe it, because her lips didn't hold a trace of happiness when she grinned. It was almost as if she was smiling just for the sake of it, smiling just because she no longer knew how to do anything else.

Like the plastic dolls commonly sold in stores, she was always smiling, even when she was handled with something far from care. It took a lot to make an assassin like her cry.

Perched on the rafters in a similar fashion to that of a bird (which she thought was ironic, at the time, considering that Nightwing had been assigned to find her), Cheshire watched the pair of teenagers with a coy smile. They were, for the most part, quiet, little words passed between them as it seemed that neither of them could muster the right ones in the situation, though they moved in synchrony; they moved together, seemingly without even being consciously aware, like - like - _parabatai._

It was a word that meant two warriors that fought together, two souls connected so that they were literally a part of each other. The tricky thing about it was, though, that if anything were to happen to one of them, there would be a hole left in the other one, eating away at them until they became mad.

How fitting.

She laughed at the thought, cold and meaningless but still enough to attract both of their attention, their heads snapping up together at the sound. The chuckles continued to fall from behind her mask as she skillfully dropped down from the beam, landing on all fours like a cat as she glanced them over, closer now. "The Little Birdie and the Witch. Sounds like a folk tale for children," she hummed, holding up her hands to show that she was unarmed. Of course, the both of them would guess that she had weapons hidden all over her bodice, which was true - when it was needed, she could flick the daggers she kept hidden in her sleeves into her hands in a practiced move without a second thought.

Her boots clicked against the ground as she took a step forward, therefore tensing up Nightwing's shoulders and narrowing Zatanna's eyes, both of them ready for the fight they came for. Good. She didn't like wasting her time.

Well, granted, Nightwing was one for banter, of course. As Robin, he'd chattered off what would seem to be a never-ending string of words all in one breath, something that would be awe-worthy even if the Flash had done it - even five years later, he still spoke to his opponents before he launched into the fight. She'd detected that his voice always seemed distracted, yet focused all at the same time; like he no longer cared about rambling on and on in favor of simply demanding the answers to the questions he needed. Maybe he was just more rushed. She wasn't altogether sure.

"What're you doing here, Cheshire?"

It was the second time within the span of only a few days that she'd heard resignation and, really, just tiredness in someone's voice addressing her, and she was not impressed. Refusing to flinch and give Nightwing that much, she placed her hands on her hips and made a noise of indignation, intently studying them all the while. "I typically love reuniting myself with old friends, but that's just rude," she tsked with mock disapproval, shaking her head as if they were young children. Nightwing's domino mask narrowed, and through the course of a prolonged few moments, Cheshire found herself with a wide grin spread across her face that no one else could see as everything else was a blur of hands and feet. Another second, and her daggers were in her hands, though with the smoke pellet Nightwing had thrown at her, she was mildly blinded when she threw one of them towards the teen with practiced aim, before rolling out of the way to inspect the results.

Maybe she'd gone soft, but she hadn't been aiming to kill; therefore, she allowed a smug smile to curl up her lips where no one would notice as she gave a nod, eyes carding over the knife that had pinned down Nightwing's sleeve to the wall behind him. It was impressive, and carefully calculated, especially considering that she hadn't been able to see all that well - so maybe she hadn't lost her ways, after all.

"Taking care of old business," she replied after only just a bit more hesitation that she had no doubt either of them would notice, seeing as Zatanna had hurried to the dark-haired young man and fussing over him far more than she should've considering that he wasn't even injured. Nightwing, however, did seem to notice the tone she spoke it with, much to her frustration. He removed the knife from the cloth over his shoulder, let it drop to the floor, and straightened to his full height with what Cheshire could only describe as a 'detective look' - after all, hadn't he learned from the best?

"Meaning?"

Cheshire had no intentions of answering him, though out of the corner of her vision she suspiciously regarded the magician by his side, wondering if she would cast some sort of spell that would make her talk. That was just cheating.

She darted forward, switching her other knife to her good hand as she lunged. Nightwing dodged, as expected, and she used the momentum of her run to turn and try and catch him. Really, from there on, it was just the wind of the fight.

Except... fights were silent, or supposed to be, save for the harsh breathing in her own years, the constant shuffling of feet against the floor, probably a few grunts and shouts thrown in there. This time, though, she could hear the murmuring of words in the background, though she couldn't focus on them with Nightwing's fast punches. While they made for a nice exercise, she'd never been much of a multitasker -

And the next thing she knew, she was invisibly bound because of one certain magician girl who was pinning her with a fake, though bright, grin. It gave her the opportunity, if brief, to truly look over her, and she would've reeled back in surprise had it not been for her constraints at the fact that Zatanna Zatara looked an awful lot like she imagined she did, at the moment. Frustration and anger always led to determination, led to a crude sort of focus to carry through with anything, mostly because she was tired of being pushed around. It was strange, at the very least, to see that clearly written over her face.

Her mask was torn off and discarded, though she didn't much mind (Nightwing already knew, anyway), more occupied with the thoughts flying through her head. She'd long mastered the art of keeping an impassive face, though, something mostly just learned from Sportsmaster, but with the touch of cool air on her cheeks, she offered a wink and a smirk to the pair. Zatanna looked annoyed. Nightwing seemed mildly amused.

Cheshire didn't give either of them a moment to speak. "The nightmares keep you up, hun?"

Both of them froze, and she narrowed her eyes, refusing to allow her eyes to flutter shut for even a moment. Why? Because that brought darkness, darkness brought up memories, memories brought up most likely a confusing mixture of sadness and rage, said mixture of feelings probably led to rash actions that would come to bite her in the long run.

However, at the moment, it seemed like she had already fallen into that trap, eyes open or not. Teenagers, she thought with an inward scoff, truly were so ignorant, considering that the two in front of her were deeply in love and the Justice League could see it as well, judging by the fact that they'd sent the two on a mission together. Zatanna's breath caught - Cheshire saw the entire scene unfolding before her with a sharper, more curious eye than before - and she let out a single, ear-piercing scream that caused Cheshire to flinch before she was dropped to the floor, rolling with the impact though still binded with her magic.

It was eerie, the glow that filled Zatanna's usually bright blue eyes, even if they had been already diluted and weaker when she'd studied them just a few moments ago. Like there was a light inside of her, using her sockets as a pathaway out, and clearly, it wasn't a good sign. But the magician no longer seemed in control, and Cheshire might've laughed at the fact that magic was far more powerful than even they understood if she hadn't been focused on Nightwing.

For such a chatterbox, he seemed to be struggling with the right words to say. The look laid out on his face was borderline begging, she noted, and while he seemed like he was shouting his voice was quiet, barely able to be made out against the rumbling in the floors and the walls.

"There's a difference between truly being controlled and self-illusion, Zatanna, a difference between what you think and what's actually real - and you need to - and you need to understand that, don't lose yourself to the demons because _they're not real._ I - you - "

Zatanna stumbled back, evidently trying to reel in her power with another scream as her back hit the wall. Seconds seemed to expand into minutes, and pain literally radiated off of her body until Cheshire herself was forced to close her eyes with grit teeth, and then it all stopped. All at once, so abruptly that for a moment she wondered if she'd simply passed out.

But no. Because there was a soft voice speaking at the moment, raspy, but still Zatanna's. "Are you real, then?"

Cheshire almost snorted, but she was being dead serious. The fear in her eyes, as if she was truly afraid of being told the wrong answer. It was enough for her to understand that she needed to keep quiet, and enough for her to watch the scene before her with wide, maybe even jealous brown eyes.

Because she needed that. She needed a warm touch, she needed someone to hold her at night so that she wouldn't be cold. She needed someone to tell her that everything was okay when she really thought she was going crazy or when she seemed on the verge of losing herself to the void that was defeat. She would admit that she'd missed it, of course, while she was gone, and it was one of the few times when she would curse herself for being so stubborn and for believing that she could do some things when, clearly, she was still human. She didn't have any superpowers. And she sure as hell still had human emotions, even if she tried to hide it.

However, the cold, cold truth that stole her voice from her was the fact that she was the one who'd willingly given all of that up, trapped in illusions that she could make it. Love was brutal, sure, but part of that brutality was the fact that it was necessary, to everyone; it was human nature to rely, to depend, to hope.

 _I gave it all up._

Cheshire curled into herself, eyes fluttering closed as the murmurs passed between them faded out to nothing at all, mouth thinning into a line mostly from hate. She, out of all people, should understand what hate was: it developed past the dictionary definition of simply being a strong disliking of something to, really, the effect something had on you when you would scream, and tear yourself apart, and curse your own very name because you didn't want to deal with it anymore. Hate was also ignorance, because hate was blaming things on somebody else, and, therefore, hate was bliss. Most of the time.

 _I gave it all up._

The thing was, though, the moment the thin layer of hate peeled away to reveal the sorry excuse of a woman and a criminal she was, it hurt. As if it was slowly tearing apart her insides, as if she was suddenly exposed to the dystopia her world had actually been. She'd been living under a protective cover that she, herself, had put up, because she was scared. Yes, she was scared, and she had no intentions of telling her father that anytime soon. It'd ruin the family reputation.

 _I gave it all up._

Her mind flickered to Roy, as was expected. Five years worth of a strange relationship that they'd both, unknowingly, come to count on, most of which was them encountering each other on missions and a whole lot of arguing involved, though it was always okay, because both of them would stay the night. Somehow, even if they'd convinced themselves that they hated each other with all their being - well, hate was just an illusion, wasn't it? And that was proved by the fact that Jade would find that, surprisingly enough, she could wake up warm at four in the morning and decide that it wasn't worth slipping out the window for. Which, all in all, was nice.

 _I gave it all up._

She allowed her eyes, vision blurry as she gazed at the couple standing before her, to open as she used the concrete floor as a headrest. It was expected of her to be brutal, expected of her to kill without a second thought solely because that's what she meant to do. She wanted to, sure, but - well, maybe Roy Harper had left more of an impact on her than she'd initially thought.

 _I gave it all up._

 _And yet, they don't have to._

Her binds were, suddenly, loosened, though with a quick glance she determined that it must've been an accident, a result from Zatanna's surge of power. Instinctively, her hands reached towards her weapons, though faltered halfway, shaking; and a mute sigh left her lips as she silently, and clumsily, climbed to her feet. One more glance towards the two to which she must've been invisible to, now, a chewing of her lip to restrain the cry that threatened to arise anytime soon, and she slunk out of the warehouse, disappearing like the Cheshire Cat.

* * *

 **I'm late and I'm incredibly sorry! My excuse, though, is that a tornado touched down near my city when did both miracles and pretty dark things to my muse, I think, which is how that entire thing during Nightwing's part happened. But, anyway, it's my spring break now so I'll have the chapters up back on normal schedule, lovelies!**

 _ **Artemis Raven Courtney**_ **-** I wholeheartedly agree with you because Lian is precious and should've been cradled with as much love in the universe, but I'm a writer and quite possibly a bad person, and, therefore, sometimes we have to make sacrifices. She didn't deserve it, and I am sorry for causing it! Hopefully, though, you'll see and understand why ;)

 **Shoutout to _BaeKat101_ and _Shadowstrike05_ for following, and to _AlexGSocial_ for being a babe and favoriting.**

 **Also, out of curiosity, how are my fight scenes? To improve, y'know, the atmosphere for the reader...**

 **Reviews are love. Thoughts?**


	5. Chapter 4

_"Maybe that was why she couldn't cry, she realized, staring dry-eyed at the ceiling. Because what was the point in crying when there was no one there to comfort you? And what was worse, when you couldn't even comfort yourself?"_

-Cassandra Clare, _City of Glass_

 **Disclaimer:** I cannot write a mystery. Like, at all. Boom. Alibi.

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Transmission**

There was something about the Batman that made Rocket almost want to hide herself in one of her shields and get as far away from the former vigilante as she possibly could, which, apparently, was the popular opinion among her used-to-be teammates. She supposed that, considering that she was now on the Justice League, she should've really learned to accept Batman by now, but that most definitely did not mean that she was any less afraid of him.

Besides, it wasn't as if she and Zatanna spent all that much time with the Justice League, anyway, as they were usually assigned to help the Team instead. Which, sure, made for an amusing afternoon watching Zatanna try to sort out her emotions over a certain bird, but while Rocket usually appreciated it, she began to wonder if they were only doing it because the magician was too... unstable.

Rocket loved the girl, wholeheartedly, and enjoyed their nights out and the dinners she made (because they were, quite frankly, even better than M'gann's already impressive cooking), but as of lately, she couldn't say that she even saw her all too often. When she did, Zatanna was pale, tired, and mostly in a hurry for a reason that Rocket could rarely identify.

She probably spent more time with Nightwing than she did with her.

And why couldn't she? They were something of a couple - except not really, according to the both of them. No, to the both of them, they were only people who went to each other for comfort, people who often spent the entire night up and talking about all their problems, only people who were lost in a world of their own where they, and only they, truly understood the meaning of tears. It was that, mostly, that annoyed her most, except that anyone could tell that Zatanna had been having a rough few nights, still.

Or maybe it was her that was being a bad friend -

"And Rocket - "

The young hero snapped back into place in what must've looked unnatural and probably unfocused while she was at it, but Batman breezed along without a second thought. "You'll be leading Gamma Squad. Take the second, smaller warehouse, report back to Nightwing and Zatanna about what you found."

Rocket gave a nod, glancing at the two others with her out of the corner of her vision while still keeping her gaze trained on Batman, a skill she'd learned a while ago. It did come in handy when she got distracted, which, probably, was much more often than she should. A few more sentences and the two on her mind made to leave, her cue to scatter as well.

"Go easy on them. I suppose that it's easier to blame it on the heat of the mission than anything else."

Rocket couldn't help the yelp that escaped her lips, before she fumbled with her own hands and turned, a sheepish, practically apologetic smile plastered on her face for the Batman to see loud and clear, though she guessed he could read the puzzlement that must've been there in her eyes. The minute smile that, really, only curled up the corners of his lips in such a manner that it looked strange when paired with the mask and the cape and all, especially when he spoke and his voice was the same, gruff as always, was unsettling, to say the least. And yet, it didn't look all too foreign on his face, strangely enough.

"Uhm - sorry?"

If the Batman was implying anything that Rocket thought he was, then maybe he did have a soul, after all. She almost wanted to laugh at it, except that even with a knowing smile on his face aimed towards the teenage couple who'd already left she was still far too frightened of messing up and, therefore, thought it best not to laugh just yet. But still, when imagining her former protege acting as clueless as Nightwing was, it was difficult to stifle a chuckle.

"You're good at hiding your daydreaming, and I'll say that much. Not to say that I can blame you. The two are tiring to watch, more often than not, but it's as I said - go easy on them, and might as well let them sort out themselves, while you're at it. Life has a strange way of twisting things around at the last moment."

A beat. She gave a nod, half wondering why he was telling her this, before he continued.

"Though I'd suggest you'd pay more attention during mission briefings, it really does tend to help."

Rocket gave a nervous laugh in reply, one hand reaching up to scratch the back of her neck mostly out of habit as she slid her gaze to the floor, instead, though sensing the Batman's calculating look on her still. "I, uh - yeah. I'm sorry 'bout that."

"Suspicious drug activity, over in Star City."

"Right, right. I'm leading who, again?"

The smile on his face never faltered though seemed to be directed towards her, this time, and Rocket wondered if it would actually be enjoyable to have a playful conversation with him at one time or another, when he was in a better mood than he usually seemed to be. Distractedly, she could bring herself to wonder if it was really all that much of a rarity to see the vigilante smile, considering that it looked so natural on his face. She supposed she would never know.

"Gamma Squad. Bumblebee, Miss Martian and Beast Boy."

"Ah. Wonderful."

Batman nodded at that, and with a practiced swish of his cape, turned and left her all alone in the dimly lit room within an instant.

* * *

Zatanna had always enjoyed riding in the bioship, if she was being honest. It gave her time to think, usually blocking out the other murmur of conversation around her in favor of closing her eyes and mulling over her thoughts, the equivalent to, she imagined, being a teenager in a normal family going on a road trip or something like that. Except for the flying that they were flying in the air, and that they were invisible, and they typically communicated mentally. Though, she supposed that they were relatively the same in the aspect that they argued most of the time and spent the rest in heated silence, seeing who could hold out any longer.

The great thing about Miss Martian's mind links was that, with a bit of effort but not really enough to completely tire her out, she could block it out if she really wanted too. Most of the time, she welcomed the sound of over voices teasing her mind - something about it assured her that she was okay because she was with other people, and they all had each other's backs. When she wanted to think, though, as she did now, for example, quiet was what she really needed and so, as La'gaan and Tim were in the midst of what was sure to escalate into a loud argument (mostly on the former's side), she let out a breath and let everything go silent.

Which gave her a whole lot of time to think.

And thinking could be dangerous.

Especially with the territory that she was venturing into.

She could practically hear her crisp costume folding as she brought her knees up to her chest as a chinrest, blue eyes unfocused and staring off into space, caught in that stage of staring-but-not-seeing as she often was. It was nice, being trapped in that little bubble, unable to hear anything, unable to see anything, all the worries lifted off her chest for just the short span of however long their journey took.

The nightmares were different now, less about her father being taken and more about being a hero. Admittedly, she'd seemed to have lost touch of that side of her by now though she couldn't really understand why - maybe it was just because she'd been occupied with other things, though she wasn't sure. Instead, she found herself questioning her morals more and more often; wondering if heroes should've done this or avoided that. This and that always being things she'd done, of course, because there was no point in doubt in any other case.

Her nightmares, now, were about losing her magic. About losing her vague understanding of the delicate balance in the world her father had once described to her in great detail, eyes holding a never-ending faraway look as he spoke with enough enthusiasm for her to believe every word he said. Because what was she if she wasn't a hero? She needed the exhilaration of a fight and the satisfaction when a difficult spell of hers managed to work even better than she'd imagined. She needed the look on children's faces - adoring, and far too innocent - and the look on their parents' - filled with seemingly as much gratitude as they could muster given the situation. She loved that about being a hero, every single aspect about it.

The thing was, though, that heroes lived up to expectations. Heroes were expected to save the world, except when you'd done it enough times it had lost the more grand ring and, instead, seemed fairly normal. They weren't treated as humans anymore, and sure, some of them weren't; but they all had their limits, and they all certainly didn't appreciate literally being ordered around as if they were some unfeeling superbeing.

And how the hell could they save the world if they couldn't even save themselves?

" _Ekam gnihtyreve retteb,_ " she silently begged, though she wasn't altogether sure who she was even addressing. She didn't believe in fate, and she didn't believe in anyone watching over her and choosing the course of her life, so she supposed that she was only asking herself. Except, in that case, it really was useless to ask because she herself knew that she couldn't do it, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't make everything better. The most she could do was give herself that illusion.

The bioship slowly pulled to a stop, and like a rush of water, their voices filled her head again.

"Hey, you alright?"

 _Please don't talk to me. Don't make me feel the guilt of needing you._

"Yeah, yeah. Just - thoughts on the mission."

Nightwing never missed an opportunity to show off his detective skills, a trait Zatanna had never really appreciated until that moment. His eyebrows knitting together in his usual manner as the others ran over the plan, he glanced out the window for what she presumed to be a place that allowed itself to expand before him so that he could stare off and find that there wouldn't be an end, and replied, "It's strange. No established criminal in Star City has a need for drugs, but I suppose it could be Bane if he's getting his steroids from a different place, now. I doubt it, though, since he trusts it a certain way as even a minor change in the chemical DNA could do some damage to him and he wouldn't take the risk - and besides, these types of drugs? They're similar to medicine, except far stronger, so more like sedatives in that aspect, actually."

Zatanna cocked her head. "Except?"

"The most common drug for sedatives is just alcohol, but there's not even a trace of it in this, to my knowledge."

"And instead?"

"For such a talker, short answers don't seem to suit you all that well. Doxepin. Used for antidepressants."

She laughed and rolled her eyes, though the sound, even to her own ears, seemed almost hollow. Standing up as the rest of the Team made to depart the bioship, she gestured for Nightwing to exit the ship and followed soon after, words ringing in her head like bells as she slipped out the opening.

* * *

It was mostly meant to be a joke, really.

Antidepressants for a girl with nightmares? That enough should've been enough for Nightwing to realize that Cheshire was the one behind it, considering their most recent encounter. Sure, looking at it again from their standpoint she could see why it would be hard to believe, exactly, but still. She'd always been a fan of irony, and they'd met enough times for what must've been the entire Team and the Justice League together to know that.

He favorite place to be, she'd established, was precariously balanced on the support beams of the warehouse, mostly because it provided her with an excellent view of whatever was going on below her and, most of the time, no one noticed her there. For whatever reason. But she appreciated it, quite honestly.

Two separate squads, apparently, had been assigned to investigate her. She was touched. However, it did mean more people that she would be forced to push aside if she was going to focus on her main objective which, really, wasn't altogether too suitable for someone who'd initially been trying to re-establish herself in the crime business. Actually, it wasn't criminal at all, far from it. Because, after all, initially was the key word in that sentence because as of the moment, she couldn't bring herself to hurt them. She might've wanted to, but it didn't matter, because with the knowledge of what she'd been through - she couldn't take it upon herself to inflict that very thing on others. It was weak, and it was stupid, but it was there.

And if she couldn't do anything about it, she might as well speed up the process.

So maybe she should've spent more time making an actual plan, or maybe she should've gone and phoned Roy like she thought she should've when she left the warehouse, that day. But she didn't do either of those in favor of, almost rebelliously, deciding to wing it on the way.

She loosely fingered her mask, waiting for a sign. The entire warehouse was pitch dark, given for the dim light cast in the windows from broken street lamps outside, yet it managed to fill the entire room with a small, but nonetheless there, glow. It also cast disproportional and narrow shadows across the lengths of the room, which did add a nice touch, but also provided cover for them in case they were to intrude on her. She needed to be alert, she needed to watch them closely so that they wouldn't slip by her grasp. That would be - well, no less than catastrophic, really.

From her point of view.

To them, it would be a successful mission. The thing was, though, that she didn't want it to be a mission, less than a chance for her to inspect the mystery that was Nightwing and Zatanna somewhere out of their boundaries with both a keener and, most likely, more sympathetic eye. Sure, heroes hated sympathy. So did she. But, in this particular case, they'd better relish it for their own sakes.

Slowly and silently, something she'd perfected years before and somehow never managed to lose the habit of, she hurried along the rafters like the beams were tightropes, distractedly laughing at the fact that in another life, she probably would've worked at the circus. It was then that a scoff left her lips at her own thought and she slipped out the crack of the open window, pulling herself up onto the roof while remaining concealed. In the distance, she could just vaguely make out the figures of approaching heroes, smirking to herself - because she didn't like to waste her time.

Eight of them, were there? Just about, she figured, slim fingers playing with a loose thread on her costume. The other hand reached into her jacket, slipping out a tool she'd coveniently stolen from Nightwing only a few nights before, her confidence blooming with the second.

If, in the future, she would look back at this event, then she supposed that she could bring herself to wonder why - why she'd chosen this sort of life when she was on the verge of something beautiful. Except for the fact that crime wasn't altogether beautiful, unless you considered darkness and sadness and blood on your hands a beautiful thing; the only reason why it might be was because it was reminiscent of her old life. It could've been constant, and it could've been wonderful, because it could've been something that she, for once, was allowed to take for granted.

Once upon a time, she could've worked with her father on some sort of scheme to make both their lives better. He would call her his baby girl and she'd scoff in reply, hating the nickname yet, somehow, needing it. It made her smile. It made her happy. It made her believe, if even for a moment, that their dysfunctional family was just perfect, and that illusion was a nice thing to have.

She wasn't stupid, though. She understood the difference between tricking herself and between being happy, and there was a fine line in between the two that she constantly wished she could cross over, but no. Somehow, she still needed to understand the pain of life, even if for the sole reason that it made everything else feel so much better in comparison.

So. Cheshire, sometimes known as Jade Nguyen or Sportsmaster's daughter, was giving up that sort of life when she knew what to expect and didn't all at the same time, one that kept her on her toes but not enough for her to truly dislike it. And she would daresay that the reason behind all of it was most likely stupid, idiotic and worse, but it was there, and she couldn't seem to do anything about it; the reason behind all of it, even if she tried to ignore it or push it into the darkest corner of her mind, was love. Because the slivers of it she had, and the vague understanding of it she received from her imperfect family, were enough to have changed her mind.

It might've seemed the subject of an sudden and ill-timed decision with no thought prior to her making it, and while she might've preferred to keep it that way, it really wasn't. It was a decision she'd made at dawn, when the sky was a rare rosy pink and she might've brought herself to admire it if her eyes weren't red and swollen and tired, since she hadn't gotten the slightest bit of sleep the night before on her straw mattress of a bed. And it wasn't only because her back ached; it was because she'd been forced to look at the true fear and affection in both their eyes, and she'd been forced to question her morals all over again. Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

She really needed to focus on the mission at hand.

There were several times when she appreciated the mask hiding her face probably more times than she should, and this one was no exception. It muffled the sound of her short breaths, uneven and a clear sign of discomfort, and hid the fact that her eyes were bloodshot and red for a not-so-criminal reason, which was great, because the team of young heroes was rapidly approaching by the second and she'd lost track of reality for moments longer than she should've.

She cursed under her breath, voice low and unsteady as she crouched, aiming carefully at the silhouettes fanning out before her. It was with a practiced hand that she threw it, a smile unconsciously tugging at her lips as she did so, and watched with satisfied eyes as a net expanded over three of the shadowy blobs, extracting several surprised yelps and, clearly, attention towards her. Well. She could work with that.

Aiming on moving figures while running all at once, under a time constraint to add onto the heap, was a difficult task. Zatanna's squad was captured, at the moment, and she was glad that whoever Nightwing was under the mask, he was dead rich because whatever titanium binding coated the heroes, at the moment, was meant to be used on criminals so that they wouldn't escape. And she doubted they would.

She was running out of time, seeing as the edge of the building was coming up fast and she still had the next trap in her hands. Cursing herself for the fact that she had the capability to be so reckless without a second thought, she exhaled softly and jumped off the edge, suspended in midair for a long few moments.

One of her favorite things was when time would simply expand before her, allowing her to do whatever she wanted all within the course of a few seconds. A perk of being an assassin. She tossed it in a blur of momentum without bothering to look if it had hit her target, far more focused on rolling as she hit the ground for impact. Roughly, almost as if from a distance, she heard someone scream out her name - before, mixed feelings on whether to scowl or laugh, she'd set off at a run again, slipping into the shadows far too fast for anyone else to catch her, until she'd circled around the building with limited time on her hands. Knives, really, were useful from several purposes considering that, at the moment, they were fairly decent to climb up the wall with until she'd slipped into the window again and propelled herself up to the beams, breath shortened with the momentum of a run.

The weight of her knives almost precariously balanced in between her long, white fingers, she braced herself; because she could predict Nightwing's move faster than he could make them and, therefore, was more than prepared with the old, unreliable doors were blown (overdramatically, she thought, seeing that that a kick might've even brought them down) off of their hinges and the two squad leaders with furious eyes radiated all their anger at her, once again making her question the intelligence of her choices. Rolling her narrowed eyes, she slipped into the corner to use gloved hands and booted feet to hold herself up above the episode happening live and before her eyes.

Nightwing never paused his movements, even for a moment, always circling around the warehouse with keen eyes searching for her in the darkness. Zatanna never left his side, though Cheshire supposed that she should be grateful for that fact since the magician could easily loosen their binds, doing what no weapon could. Strength in numbers, she supposed, though had it been her somehow on the wrong side of the war she would've sprinted to free the others, at an incredible disadvantage deeming that she had not the least of powers. The two looked restless, as if they were carrying out a never-ending mission and had long accepted it as their fate, as if they had no choice but to continue trying.

She was rather impressive when it came to holding her breath and keeping silent for long periods of time, surprisingly enough, especially since she could never seem to shut up the moment she had something to talk about. An equally impressive inner dialogue raged in her head, though, heated and layered until the point where she was so distracted from the main point she'd first made that she had no idea what topic she'd been debating with herself about in the first place, mind swirling with words and phrases that she couldn't say that she cared about, anymore. It was a great way to pass time, yes, though the fact that she wasn't processing half of what she was thinking at that point should've been something of a concern; except that everything that even passed through her mindspace seemed to be nothing but nonsense, also, since she couldn't even trust herself anymore.

And it was difficult to pull herself out of the void she'd therefore created, to pull herself back into the present mostly because she didn't want to leave the cozy space she'd made for herself. At least, it was until her eyes flew open in furiosity and she scorned at her own stupidity and decided to appreciate the fact that their conversation seemed to have only just started - though, with its topic and at its pace, she figured that it would bloom fairly quickly into something else.

"I can't do anything right."

It was a murmur almost inaudible to the assassin from her position, but she heard it nonetheless and instantly cocked an eyebrow more out of instinct than anything else. How similar they were.

Nightwing seemed as taken aback as she was, determined by the way his clean movements cut off with a choppy stop, and he lost his balance for a split second that only a trained eye - or a one of those close to him - could see. From his face, it was evident that he couldn't find the words to answer to a straight statement like that, and if she hadn't wanted to blow her cover for the moment, she might've laughed at his expression. Not even how ironic they were. All she wanted to do was laugh at his expression, like a teen who'd cracked a joke and waited for the response.

"What?"

There was a beat of silence in which Cheshire squinted to see what was going on, past what was visualized in front of her but more so what was working in their heads, a skill she'd had years of practice on with her sister, with Roy, even. The girl looked regretful already that she'd even spoken, but things slip, and Cheshire was silently commanding her to deal with it. She needed the rehearsal. Almost as if Zatanna could sense her judgemental eyes peering at her, she glanced upwards into the dark corner where she was hidden, and with a scowl, it was all Cheshire could do to hope that she'd go undiscovered for just a bit longer.

Within the blink of the eye, Zatanna's hands had flew to her mouth and she stumbled back, eyes filled with - what was that? Hate? It seemed awfully similar, yes, but Cheshire couldn't manage to wrap her head around the fact that her polar opposite felt emotions so similar to what had been going through her head the past few days. It wasn't right. It wasn't good. Zatanna Zatara was a beautiful, seemingly innocent girl that emanated the picture of a near fairy tale, but the more Cheshire stared, the more she was sure, and, therefore, the more she understood. The more she tried to understand, anyway.

It all depended, she supposed, on whether that hate was aimed at herself or aimed at those around her, but with the situation and the startlingly dark look in her eyes, she guessed that it would be the former. Nightwing, however, clueless as ever, stepped forward with a hand extended and his mouth, most likely unconsciously, fixed open in stagger, and Zatanna stumbled back with a shout. "Don't, don't get near me."

"What - Zatanna?"

"Dammit. I'm fine, Nightwing, no need to treat me like a kid who lost her lollipop."

Expelling anger towards close friends and family? Cutting herself off, restricting herself? The giveaway sign, being the fact she stared relentlessly at the ground, and her voice - bitter and cold and more things that nobody would associate with the magician? Most definitely proof that Cheshire was right, and while a brief smug sensation passed over her, it lost to the borderline annoyance released in the sigh. Because, well, things were awfully more tricky now and couldn't be solved with a simple kiss.

Didn't mean that Nightwing wouldn't try, though.

Cheshire almost felt as if she was intruding, which was most likely was, though it was still a strange feeling to be on her palate. It was new; but then again, wasn't most of this entire affair? Yet another reason to add to the growing debate in her head, but she pushed it away (even though it was sure to turn up again sooner or later, as it always seemed to) to concentrate on her own - well, mission, she supposed she should call it. A mission was, after all, described as an important assignment for possibly personal purposes, so yes, she was on a mission.

By the time she finally dropped down from her position, her arms and legs were sore from supporting her weight for so long, but she forced herself to shake it off as she landed on all fours, just in time to catch them fly apart in record speed, both of them flushing heavily almost to a point where Cheshire felt guilty for ruining it. Except she didn't, because that was the more rebellious and still, probably, evil part of her that hadn't died down completely. "Well, this is getting awfully touchy for your task, isn't it?"

Her voice dripped sweetness she hadn't found in a long while, and she had the audacity to even be impressed at her own skill.

She really needed a life beyond setting up schemes meant for two lovestruck, and quite possibly broken, teenagers.

Nightwing, apparently, had given up trying to find words to describe himself and, instead, launched into action with even more anger and skill than he had the other day, taking it out on her for invading his privacy. For ruining something that might've evolved into something else. She almost felt the need to point out that his former teammates were still tied up just outside the now non-existent doors, but she decided, mostly for his sake than her own, against it.

He kicked. She blocked, following directly up with a low punch aimed at his briefly exposed waist, all the while noting how difficult it was to reign in her more... basal instincts as to not hurt him too much, but she would admit that she was curious to see what might happen if she did. More motherly, except just the opposite, care from Zatanna, she suspected, but she'd already done enough to the two tonight that she felt the moral need not to embarrass them more. Oh well.

It would've gone on for far longer than it had if Zatanna wasn't watching them both, stony eyed, though the color that was still in her cheeks gave her away. She looked exasperated, as if she was watching two young, elementary kids wrestle on the ground and wanted it all to stop for the sake of her time, until she finally reached out and, sounding almost - well, almost bored, said, " _Pots reh. Won._ "

And just like that, Cheshire was paralyzed, knowing that the spell would fade once Zatanna was out of range, but still. She'd been robbed of a good fight. Was it worth it? At the moment, the lines to determine so were incredibly blurry and she knew enough to understand that she couldn't decide now, had seen enough to understand that she wouldn't be able to decide for a while longer. And that was okay, somehow. She was okay with it.

"Magic's the only way to loosen those things, y'know. And whatever Nightwing has hidden in the, what? BirdCave? Something like that?"

Zatanna approached her with shaky hands, breath coming out equally as uneven. Nightwing called out concerned warning behind her, but she seemed to pay them no mind and Cheshire was forced to remember that heroes didn't kill, they didn't lower themselves to that level. It was a good thing, because she might've convinced herself that she truly had made the wrong decision than what she did had it not been for the sigh that left Zatanna's lips.

And then the sorta criminal was slapped across the face, once, and she lay unmoving on the floor for about ten minutes longer, enough for her to close her eyes and fall asleep.

* * *

 **Thoughts on other Team member's points of view? I do like writing them from a third perspective, though let me know if I trail too far off from the storyline!**

 **Thankyou to one Artemis Raven Courtney (no worries, she will because I couldn't live with myself if she doesn't) and a Guest for being loves and reviewing.**

 **Reviews are love. Chalant should've taught you all about that.**


	6. Chapter 6

_"I had a daddy, didn't I? He wasn't perfect and he certainly wasn't the one I'd dreamed he would have been, but I had one all the same. And I'd love him as much as I'd hated him, hadn't I? All that distance, all that time wasted, but the fact that he'd inspired such passion in me meant something in itself. I can honestly say now that I think that's special. Screwed up and turned inside out, we were special him and me, and I am so thankful that I can say that I had a daddy and that he mattered. All his faults and failures mean nothing to me now."_

-Melodie Ramone, After Forever Ends

 **Disclaimer:** Why would people write fanfiction about their own work?

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Daddy/Daughter Time**

Zatanna Zatara could not stop staring at her hands.

It really wasn't anything vain or conceited though she would admit that, sure, it did sound that way, but mostly it was simply stupid. Her hands weren't beautiful, weren't really worthy of looks (but anyway, she had no interest in becoming a hand model of any sort); it was just the mere fact that she'd stumbled upon the realization that her hands gave her to power to do everything. Therefore, when that power seemed to be stripped away as easily as peeling off her clothes - well, then, she couldn't process it nor accept the fact that her emotional state had grown into something where her magic, one of the few things she could always rely on, had disappeared. And she had no idea how to get it back, spells being the first thing that came to mind, and as for the only other person who might know how to do so -

Well, she didn't want to go there, and that much was obvious.

She generally considered herself a patient person, though she could most definitely be stubborn if she wanted to; she figured it was something of a human skill, something that just came in human nature when you were born and you didn't know the difference between the light in the dark and nothing mattered because you didn't understand any of it. Those days, sadly, were the ones that couldn't be remembered, which she thought really was a pity considering that they might be the highlights of anyone's life. Those moments had to be watched and told through the eyes of another person who, even if they really tried, didn't necessarily _understand_. It was so difficult to understand.

One would think that it'd be fairly easy considering that they were all people, and their minds all worked the same way so, therefore, they should've been able to understand, at the very least, that nobody truly knows what's going on in anybody else's life and that nothing in the world can be fixed. So really, it was understanding when to keep your space and when to breathe out instead of firing up, but somehow, it seemed lost to everybody. Including her. But, well, at least she could admit it.

It was so damn difficult, she reflected, to hold yourself back: from helping, from screaming, and everything in between. Maybe that was another part of human nature - having pity for a person or thing because nobody seemed to know where else to aim that emotion so, instead, their victims were stuck instead getting attention that they didn't want. Most of the time, she found that all she really wanted was to curl up into a ball on her unproportionally large bed in an attempt to lose herself in the softness and shut our everything else except for the simple prospect of sleep, which always seemed to somehow drift further and further the way the more she tried to reach it. And yet, when she refused to give in, it would take her just as easily.

So maybe she was losing the battle, yeah. But was it really altogether much of a surprise when, all things considered, she was battling against the demons of the past - the present - the future, even - like that Christmas carol they all heard one too many times when they were little until the words and the tale were engraved in their minds. It was a nice story, she supposed, with a beautiful ending that she wished would come true, one day; and maybe it would, but she wouldn't allow herself to give in to wishful thinking like that if the result would only turn out to be the opposite and she would find herself even more devastated than before.

Except that nobody really knew what the ending was, to anything. Some claimed it was death, she supposed, but nothing could truly be considered an ending while your life was still going on; maybe life didn't end when you died, either. Maybe it started all over again, to the knowledge of nobody, so that a person would always be searching for the dictionary definition of happiness.

Which was yet another thing all by itself; because happiness was only what other people declared it to be, but only a person could decide themselves whether or not they were truly happy. The chances would be the latter, but beyond that, happiness was an emotion that nobody could say that they'd ever felt before, which was most strange. Happy was a word commonly used without even thinking about it, meaning that more often than not, when somebody said that they were _happy_ \- well, most likely, they'd gone along with whatever they learned in school, but they'd also probably be telling a lie. And that was a sad thing, she thought, more than anything else.

She could've gotten help, and she knew that much. She wasn't blind to the stares other people gave her, nor was she that ignorant to not realize the miracle that was Nightwing before her, but she wanted to fight on her own; wanted the victory to be sweet in her mouth and to last with the knowledge that she'd done it herself, without the help of anyone else. In a way, then, it was also a matter of pride, she would admit; because she didn't believe that she wouldn't be able to do it on her own, despite all the signs and even just common sense point towards that goal. She didn't want help. Hopefully, she didn't _need_ help, either.

But, as her father had lectured and explained to her far too many times for her liking when she was younger, there was a difference between wanting and needing - which was obvious enough in itself, she'd always thought, but upon looking back she could bring herself to truly appreciate those talks. She might've dozed off more than once and wished that she could do something more enjoyable, more exciting - nonetheless, though, she could only wish that Zatara was still here at the moment to have long discussions deep into the night with her, either as an excuse to stay awake or because she truly wanted his advice. His advice was crucial.

And, besides, it was always nice to hear his voice.

At this point in time, really, it was leaning more towards imagining his voice, instead; and, seeing as imagining and hallucinating seemed to go hand in hand, she also imagined things like her own blood on her fingers. Like what it might've been like if she'd never been so stupid to put on that helmet when Fate had already released two of them with persuasion from Kent, who must've been tired of all of it. Like what it would feel like to have a mother by her side, who she could talk to, who would understand.

Needless to say, none of these things really improved her mood, much. For the fact that it'd been going on for a few weeks, now, she doubted that her teammates now viewed it as anything new; her once uncharacteristic quietness, her new habits of slipping unnoticed into the corner to watch with wide, expressive blue eyes, the aura she gave off of _don't come near me or you'll ruin me even more._ All of them had gotten the gist, and now kept their space; and while she appreciated that they were actually following her directions for once with a large part of her, she also wished that they would persist just a little longer, because it was nice to feel needed.

But that was stupid, and she knew it. Selfish, really. Just another pair of traits to add on to the rapidly growing list she mentally had created of all her (large, she might add) flaws.

So, she'd been slowly mulling over all those aspects of life with the impression that she'd have all the time in the world to do so when she got back from their latest mission; which, honestly, she wondered why she even went on anymore considering that she hardly ever did anything but slow the rest of them down and was the complete opposite of the leader she was supposed to be, which was also just horrible considering that she was supposed to be a member of the Justice League. Her excuse was, though, that she couldn't provide justice to the public if she didn't provide justice to herself first; but while once upon a time she'd actually attempted to do so, she'd nearly given up. She was at a dead end where she had not the least idea where to go next and had just decided to sit down, staring at the sunset without thinking, because that was easiest and sometimes she wanted to just sleep.

Sleep was fire, and sleep was bliss. It was awfully strange, but either way, it seemed to be getting in the way of everything else. The sad thing about it was that she could no longer bring herself to care.

As mentioned before, she wasn't really stupid; so she was, contrary to popular belief that she might've agreed with as well had it not been that she was the one being talked about, aware that she was only hurting herself when she watched the youngest members of the Team train as hard as they could with hopes that they'd rise up to the level of being called a hero by the public, by the news, by other people. Some dark, cruel part of her wanted desperately to tell them that it probably would never happen and if it did, they'd only realize what they'd sacrificed to get to that horrible position where nobody bothered to thank you for saving the world yet again, but she had the decency to force it down, at the very least. It couldn't stop her from thinking about it; but it was good enough that she didn't express it on her face, as she had, apparently, spilled out her life story without the use of words at all. Only her eyes, and her pale face, and the trembling in her lip that made her look like she wanted to cry. For all they knew, she did. All day, every day.

At that moment in time, the lips were pulled into a thoughtful frown nonetheless, mind far from thinking about the mission or its importance or, really, anything useful, rather than the things she'd constantly been coming back to and adding on over the past few days; her eyes were cast downward as they always were, now, a quirk that she'd grown into so that she could pretend that she didn't see everyone being so sympathetic about nothing around her; her arms were unconsciously folded over her chest in a manner that was now instinct, nails digging into the soft skin of her arms though she didn't notice it at all. She'd grown more dull, most likely - like she'd lost feeling in both her soul and her body.

She was the last one out the bioship before the door closed behind her and she was wandering aimlessly about the Cave, making no sound on the stone floor. Faintly, she could recognize the murmur of excited conversation around her if she really tried - Beast Boy the loudest and the youngest out of all of them, Garfield always wanting to impress the others with a childish determination that she adored. But she usually didn't try, usually ignored her surroundings as everyone had begun to ignore her - which was exactly why she was caught with surprise when she found the member of the Justice League towering in all his glory that she didn't see and couldn't find, right there in the kitchen. The hum cut off abruptly.

Words should've come easily, seeing as her brain was always swirling with them, but it must've been the start she had that cut off her tongue since she mumbled gibberish that nobody understood instead of what she'd intended to say. They were as simple as asking Dr. Fate what he was doing here at the moment when there was sure to be something going on in the city that he needed to help with, but staring up at him (in reality, he wasn't all that tall, but he constantly levitated everywhere for a reason she had yet to discover as something else than to seem superior) and couldn't muster the effort. So, instead, she stepped back, eyes fluttering closed as Nightwing, as expected, spoke for her. It was nice and annoying all at once that he'd know exactly what she wanted to do, wanted to say.

"Dr. Fate. Is there a reason you're here?"

It was a stupid question, one really meant to get an answer from him of why he would visit them at such an hour. He tilted his head at Nightwing for a moment, she noted through nearly lidded eyes she'd cracked open to observe what was happening, as if he was a puzzle that he couldn't figure out, before stepping around him and forward so that he was hovering in front of Zatanna once more.

"I'm assuming you're going to speak?" She snapped, voice coming off far more frustrated that it should've, which was sure to raise some questions in the other though she decisively ignored that fact for now. "Because we've all gotten back from a mission, we're awfully tired and don't need another - obstacle."

The hitch in her voice as she debated what to say was definitely notable, and she almost wanted to facepalm at her own idiocy before she kept her chin held high, so unlike everything she was feeling inside, and so unlike every impression she'd given off over the past few days to the point where she thought if she'd been someone else, she would've been annoyed that she even had the nerve to pretend that she was brave. Dr. Fate was quiet only a moment longer, and then, "Zatanna. You should come with me."

He reached forward, and, of course, the magician reflexively flinched back from his touch. "I should? How would you know what's best for me, at this point?"

Everything she was saying was so bitter, which was careless considering that she was giving away even more of herself to everyone in the room, and they were all watching wide-eyed with held breaths. She hated the extra pressure. Well, tried to. There were too many things on her mind.

It almost looked like Dr. Fate gave something even vaguely resembling a shrug before he'd gestured for her to come with him without any further words, meaning no further arguments and back-talk (if what she was doing could be deemed as back-talk) from her end. Without any permission from her head, her legs had already started moving after him and it was all that she could do to keep her head down in an attempt to disregard the stares, yet again.

* * *

"Babe, what's for dinner?"

The muffled reply came from upstairs and Wally had to strain his ears in order to hear it - the slight, "Just a moment, Wallman," the annoyance radiating off her tone as more things were toppled over in her room. He raised an eyebrow, having enough nerve to hope that she wasn't mad at _him,_ before he'd sped upstairs and through the locked door with ease, half-wondering why she even bothered to do that in the first place. She must've known. Five years worth of a relationship, after all, was stretched between them.

And her room was catastrophic, with probably as much potential as he had on a normal day. Artemis was generally an organized person, liking her things neat and tidy so that she could reach them with easy notice; except there must've been a flaw in her system because otherwise, she wouldn't be tearing up the furniture in both frustration and the hopes that whatever she was looking for would be hidden underneath. Her temper was a whole 'nother thing, of course.

"Yeah, no. You're not gonna be done in just a moment."

Artemis huffed in reply, straightening in her position though she still rose up to be a few inches shorter than he was, now - though there was a short period of time a few years back when she'd gotten a growth spurt before he did and so, for a month or something like that, she was an inch taller than him. She still prided herself on that, now. "Helpful, Wallace," she replied with a slight frown tugging on her lips, hands naturally seeming to go to their position resting on her bare hips. Her sports jersey for the varsity track team at Gotham Gotham University tugged up to reveal her midriff and the speedster had to force himself to avert his gaze lest she lecture him again.

He leaned casually against the wall with paint peeling off it in its bad condition, an amused smile playing over his lips for a split second before she leveled him with a look and it disappeared right off the bat. She would give in to him, though; she always ended up doing so, with the right persuasion at the right times. All it took for her now was a light kiss to the forehead before he pulled her into a hug, comfortably resting his chin on top of her head because they just _fit_ together like that, and it was one of his favorite things about her. Well, along with her personality and such. Of course.

"You alright, Arty?"

Her gaze was hidden in his sweatshirt but he could practically see the roll of her eyes before the nickname had even rolled off his tongue, and he brought himself to laugh. Judging by the slight shaking in her shoulders, she was too, and he let a breath escape his lips before pulling back just slightly, enough for their faces to still hover only inches apart while allowing him to get a glimpse of her expression. She nodded, minute but enough for him to understand to keep his space - because they could communicate in tiny touches and movements like that, now, since words didn't seem to do a good job of getting across the message. One more kiss to the tip of her soft, conditioned hair and he was out of the room, feet carrying him down the stairs so fast that it wore down yet another layer of the nearly destroyed carpet that lined it.

High metabolism wouldn't be a problem so much as he had a few snacks while he waited for her to fix up something for the both of them, which he figured would be good enough for tonight. Besides, there was always the prospect of going to get takeout if really needed -

And then the doorbell went off and his jumped to his feet in surprise, waiting just a moment for the dizziness to pass through him before he suspiciously glanced at the door and at the window. Artemis typically didn't invite people over on Wednesdays, and it was less of a matter of not having any friends for him as she loved to point out than having no knowledge of them coming over, at the moment.

Knocking, then, because whoever was standing outside the door seemed to be incredibly impatient. "Wally, let me in!"

It was a voice he hadn't heard in a while though that just made it that much better when the surprise came and he threw open the door with a surprising amount of force coming from the excitement sure to be spilling out for anyone to see, at the moment. Dick was there, in all his glory, looking him over with a raised and jokingly condescending brow at his childish behavior.

"Would've thought that you'd grown within five years," he commented with a shrug, stepping inside without a second thought.

Wally gave an exaggerated pout in reply, folding his arms over his chest as he muttered under his breath, all for show. "Come to my house and pound on the door like you own the place, then mock me for being 'immature' - " air quotes at this point, of course - "why don'tcha?"

Dick laughed, and Wally added the worse version of his name to the string of words that had escaped his mouth all in one breath, a habit he'd never really grown out of, before both of them were rolling on the floor with the memories of old times.

"You know, I'd agree with my boyfriend but it seems to be that, as always, he's wrong." Artemis' voice came from above them before she was down the stairs and wrapping Dick in a light hug, a small smile drifting across her lips as he suspected she, too, wished for something of her old life. And that was dangerous thinking. "How've you been, Nightwing? And why're you stopping by?"

"Business." Wally didn't need to look at him to hear the smirk in his words. "And some catching up to do, I guess."

"Well, then, stay a bit. I'll fix up some leftovers," Artemis offered, then had disappeared into the kitchen before he could object.

Wally looked at him, expertly keeping the smile off his lips. "She didn't move a bit when I tried to budge her, then you come along and make me feel like crap."

"What's to say you aren't?"

The redhead chided his best friend on the shoulder and led him to the living room, where the both of them promptly flopped down on the couch, feet dangling over the armrests. "What're you _really_ doing here? You know we're only wasting time when you avoid it."

Dick leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, a thoughtful look displayed on his face though Wally guessed that it was only a mask to procrastinate just a little longer. "You've already made it this far, anyway," he urged on, curiosity piqued.

Wally would say that it was more than frustrating to watch him open his mouth, then close it again, then open it, and so on, until he was debating whether or not to simply just leave him to think about his own problems - before he finally spoke, and his impatience was pushed down for just a little longer to be replaced by interest. "Girl problems. I need your advice on girl problems."

There was a beat of straight silence, and then the speedster fell over and off the couch in laughter, clutching his stomach while struggling for air, vision so blurry that he couldn't make out Dick's expression though guessed what it would be like: Exasperated at the foolishness of the person he called his best friend while waiting, patiently as he always was (somehow, considering that he dealt with Wally all the time), and maybe just the slightest bit embarrassed though if Wally knew anything about the other, then he would hide it well. Not well enough to mask it for him, though.

"You're kidding."

"You wouldn't have rolled on the ground like an animal if I was kidding," Dick reasoned with a pointed look that almost made Wally want to pout, further adding on to the rapidly growing worse impression of him.

"It's true, fine. What d'ya need, then?"

The words felt almost foreign leaving his lips and he stifled another chuckle, but the hero and former sidekick of the Batman had already guessed his next moves and fixed him with a glare in advance, shutting him up before he could even think about what would next leave his mouth. From there on, the Boy Wonder took a moment to think and that was written out all over his face, especially by the collage of emotions there and Wally figured for someone so shielded, it must've felt strange to expose so many emotions at once. He could read all of them if he really tried - one of the perks of super speed - but he ixnayed it in favor of allowing Dick to tell him himself. It was far more entertaining that way, anyway.

"Zatanna. There's something wrong with Zatanna."

His thoughts, though, didn't travel in super speed and therefore it took him a moment to wonder why Dick would care about Zatanna and another to realize the answer to his own question, and his face had broken out in an annoying, goofy grin yet again. "And you decided to come to the guy with two loving parents, a girlfriend, an Uncle who's the Flash and basically a pretty good life? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

The laugh that Dick gave in response was weak and forced, it seemed, weighed down by other things Wally couldn't determine at the moment. "Apparently. That idiot's also my best friend, you realize."

"Mmm. That was a stupid decision."

"I realize that now."

"You flatter me."

"I do, don't I?"

The useless banter between them that had grown into nothing but habit now since more often than not, Robin (because Wally would never stop calling the Boy Wonder by his original name, no matter how much he 'tried to change his image') preferred to keep is personal life out of the conversation for more reasons than just Batman telling him to do so, he knew. Which made it all the more rare and something to be treasured that Dick was on his couch at that very moment, trying his best to spill out what was tugging at him. Wally could tell that he truly was, but bad habits were difficult to grow out of, especially, he supposed, when you weren't really trying to get rid of them altogether. Wally was just an exception. Which was awesome.

But back to the point.

"You gonna continue?" Wally's voice was uncharacteristically soft and slightly encouraging, though giving off the practiced vibes that Dick shouldn't feel the need to keep speaking if he didn't want to. Yes, Wallace West was pretty damn good at being a psychologist, if he would say so himself.

Dick hesitated, then gave a tiny nod similar to that of Artemis' - and Wally wondered why all the people closest to him were so shaded. After that came a surge of pride that he'd managed to break down those barriers with his personality, nonetheless, before a slight frown unconsciously dotted his lips at how it'd still taken him so long. "And I don't know how to help her. I mean, I did then - somehow, but I don't know how - I don't know how to get it back." Dick's bright blue eyes narrowed as his eyebrows knitted together and, mind drifting off every which way as it always did, he marveled at the fact that he looked so strange, so _vulnerable,_ without his mask. "Does that make sense?"

"Not to the typical person, but lucky for you, I'm far from it. I'm a redhead and the fastest - well, second fastest, now - man alive. So, to me, yes, which is great because I'm fairly sure Artemis is eavesdropping from the kitchen."

Both of them paused in synchrony for a moment, waiting to see if just on cue Artemis would call out a snarky reply, but chuckling at themselves since nothing came. "Advice, then. Give me your advice."

Wally shrugged, wishing that he could actually do something for his friend so that he wouldn't feel so useless. He took another second to think, fingers drumming restlessly against his thighs as he angled his head, cushioned by pillows, to study Nightwing. "Tip in life, then. When she pushes you away; there's two things that she might be feeling, at the moment. Either she'd hurting and needs help but doesn't believe so, in which case you should go up and just convince her to see straight - easier said than done, by the way, but you probably know that. Or, the more tricky one, is that she genuinely needs her space, in which case you should give her it or else she'll be - I dunno. Emotionally scarred, or something like that. My point is that she'd be worse off than she was before, but it's difficult to gauge those things."

It took Dick a while to register his words, though that was probably because he'd spoken so quickly. Wally tilted his head, slowly mulling over his words to see if they made sense and if it was actually good advice, before Dick had raised an eyebrow at him and asked, "And how would you know?"

"I have practice on Artemis."

This time, the blonde stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room to fix him with a scolding look, one hand on her hip while the other held a kettle, making her look like a waitress from a restaurant selling comfort food. "I heard that, you know."

A guilty look passing over his features before she laughed and left again, Dick stared at the two of them without the traces of an amused smile on his face; instead, his mouth was hanging only slightly open, eyes wide and filled with pain that could only come with memories, Wally knew, and his own smile disappeared in an instant. "Five years ago, everything was different, wasn't it?" He murmured under his breath, speaking the words so that Dick wouldn't have to.

The other teen nodded, slightly, before his brain seemed to work again his mouth snapped shut in a movement that looked unnatural. "It really was." His agreement was quiet, so much that Wally had to sit up in order to hear. Propping himself up on his elbows, he tilted his head in thought.

"Too much time?"

"Most likely."

"Everything changed, didn't it?"

"Well, you and Artemis retired from hero work. Which I respect, but you've grown - more mature, I guess. When you want to be." There it was, the ghost of a smile threatening to hover on Dick's lips, but not just yet. Like it had to wait for its proper cue.

"Not only that, and you know that much."

Dick's head fell back, resting on the overstuffed pillows lining Wally's couch, before his eyes had fluttered shut his hands were digging into each other with their nails, and the redhead felt the urge to stop him from hurting himself. He didn't need to, though, because Bruce Wayne's ward soon loosened his grip on himself to look Wally straight in the eye, almost intimidating though it didn't bother him at the moment. "Yeah, I do. But I wish I didn't."

"Nobody does."

And then there was silence again, this one comfortable, until Artemis called the both of them for a late dinner and they stood up, both ruffled in their own ways and both having too much to think about all at once.

"Get Dr. Fate to talk to her, then, if you don't think you can," Wally suggested quietly, staying in the room for only a bit longer. The both of them were at eye level, staring at each other with a fierceness that seemed to be growing by the minute until Artemis yelled again, breaking them off.

"Huh. That's a good idea."

* * *

 **Because Wally is my love, my life, and I absolutely adore him. He's wonderful.**

 **Reviews are love.**


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